Friday Let Me Down
by MidnightBlue88
Summary: PreDetention. On the Friday before detention, the five teens commit the crimes that land them in the library that Saturday. Covers the entire day and will end on Saturday morning right before the film begins. COMPLETE!
1. Golden Child, Black Sheep & Heartbreaker

Disclaimer: I do not own The Breakfast Club or any of its members. The title of the story is also that of a Hall and Oates song. Coincidentally, I do not own that either. Please do not sue me, as I am a poor college student that can't even afford a place of her own and therefore owns little to nothing of any real value.

Summary: Friday before Detention. All five soon-to-be members of the BC are having a bad day. Little do they know that they are affecting one another's lives before they even meet. Short series.

A/N: This is an idea that I've had rolling around in my head for a long time. I'm still working on Not As Easy As It Looks, and I'll continue updating both until I finish with this one.

* * *

Chapter One: The Golden Child, the Black Sheep and the Heartbreaker

* * *

**Friday, March 23, 1984**_

* * *

6:28 A.M._

Andy Clark woke up at approximately 6:28 A.M. on Friday, March 23, 1984. School started at 8:00, but he didn't usually sleep past 6:30. It wasn't that he didn't want to (because Lord knows he did) but because his father had other plans.

When he got downstairs, dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, his father was already waiting for him, a bottle of cold Gatorade in one hand. "You ready, Sport?"

The workout proceeded as usual with Andy's father hovering over or beside him, yelling into Andy's ear and hitting the sides of the machines with the palm of his hand for emphasis. Mr. Clark called this "motivation" and sometimes, if he wanted to sound really helpful, "spotting". Andy had to admit that this was somewhat accurate, as he worked twice as hard when his father was in the room.

"Come on! What the hell was that? Higher!"

Andy pushed the weight into the air as high as he could, arms shaking violently with exertion.

"You've got three more. I want to see you hold it this time!"

Andy took another deep breath and pushed up again, holding it for three solid seconds before lowering it back to his chest. He didn't stop before he pushed up again, hoping that if he could just get those last reps out of the way that his father would stop screaming. He held the weight for at least two seconds that time, his muscles too weak to do anything more.

"Are you giving up on me? Your intensity is for shit!"

Andy felt the pressure of the weight against his chest, mirrored by the pressure he felt on the other side of his ribcage. He held the weight against his chest for an instant, trying to gather up the strength for one last rep.

"Up, dammit! Up! I won't accept that!"  
Andy felt the wave of pressure transform itself into a ball of hot fury, burning its way through his stomach muscles and up into his shoulders and biceps. He thrust upward, though his muscles were screaming in agony, and held the weight high above his head.

"I won't tolerate any losers in this family!"

Andy managed to hang onto the weight for almost five seconds, his stomach and back and shoulders and arms screaming altogether in a chorus of pain. Finally, when he could stand it no more, he let the weight fall towards his chest, where his father caught it and replaced it on the stand.

Andy sat up shakily, taking deep breaths to calm down. His father handed him the sports drink and he accepted it from him, taking long, deep gulps. When he'd finished off the bottle, he kept the rim pressed against his lips, too dazed to tear himself away. After a moment, Mr. Clark grabbed the bottle from his son and Andy watched dumbly as he tossed it into a garbage bin a few feet away. His hands were shaking so badly that the tangibility of the empty bottle provided some comfort, however small.

"Good job today, Sport."

Andy jumped when his father patted him roughly on the back. He looked up to see if he was kidding, but Andy knew that he wasn't.

"Keep givin' me effort like that and you'll end up with another patch for that jacket." Mr. Clark checked his watch. "It's 7:25. Go hop in the shower."

Andy nodded and trudged into his room, where he closed the door and fell onto the bed. For a few minutes, he stared at the ceiling, unable to move. What had just happened? Nothing earth shattering, he supposed. He worked out with his father nearly every morning and was used to his father's "encouraging" comments. Well, most of them.

"_I won't tolerate any losers in this family!"_

Andy let those words soak in for a moment, afraid to think about what they might mean. Was his father calling him a loser? Andy Clark, State Wrestling Champion? He couldn't have meant that. Of course he didn't mean to imply that one workout meant the difference between Golden Child and Black Sheep. His father said a lot of things, but he'd never insinuated to Andy the possibility that he wasn't good enough for their family.

Until now.

Andy stood up from the bed and walked into his bathroom, where he took a shower and brushed his teeth and combed his hair. He went through the motions, but didn't let himself feel much of anything else lest he start thinking about those words again.

"_Your intensity is for shit!"_

Andy splashed a handful of water onto his face, letting it spill over his chin and down his throat. He grabbed a towel from the stack next to the sink and pressed it against his face, breathing in the scent of laundry detergent. He swallowed deeply and pulled the towel away from his face so that he had a clear view of himself in the mirror. He looked tired, which made sense. He also looked old, which didn't. He was only eighteen.

"_I won't tolerate any losers in this family!"_

Andy threw the towel on the floor and stormed out of the bathroom, slamming his bedroom door behind him. He looked around his room, hungry for something to throw or kick or punch. He saw a pair of running shoes on his floor and ran over to them, kicking them roughly against the wall. He looked over at his desk, which was half covered in football and wrestling trophies, and reached for the largest one, wondering what kind of damage it would do against the mirror in the bathroom or the window behind him. He turned towards the window and pulled his arm back and-

"Andy?"

Andy froze, arm suspended in the air like the figure on top of the trophy he was holding.

"Honey, are you okay? What was that noise?"

Andy swallowed and let the trophy fall against his leg. "I'm fine, Mom. I just… I'm fine."

"Okay… I've got your breakfast waiting for you downstairs."

Andy clenched his jaw and stared at his window, which remained unharmed, but barely. "Thanks," he croaked.

Andy heard his mother's footsteps on the stairs again, fading as she got closer to the bottom. Andy looked down at the trophy in his hand and took a deep breath. Then another. And another. And another. After a few minutes, he replaced the trophy on the desk and reached down to retrieve the running shoes from the floor next to the wall. Robotically, he unrolled a pair of socks from his clean laundry basket and put on the shoes, tying the laces slowly as if he couldn't quite remember how it was done. He sat there on his bed for about five more minutes, staring at the laces, until his mother's voice brought him back to reality.

"Andy! You're going to be late!"

_

* * *

7:23 A.M._

Allison stared up at the ceiling above her bed, wishing she was a morning person. She hated getting up early, unlike her sister Danielle, who was always up at the crack of dawn, taking a shower and blow drying her hair and putting on layer after layer of powder and blush and mascara and God knows what else. Sometimes she even got up extra early for a run around the neighborhood, just to make sure that she stayed in shape. It didn't matter to Allison; she had a hard enough time waking up to her own alarm, much less her sister's.

Allison lay there for a good ten minutes before finally climbing out of bed and walking over to the closet. She kicked a pair of her sister's running shoes out of the way and opened the closet door, pushing aside the colorful, fashionable clothes and reaching for the dark grey skirt in the back. She looked along the closet floor and finally found a shirt that matched. Well, sort of. Black went with everything, right?

"God, don't you own anything that isn't black?"

Allison turned to find Danielle standing in front of her wearing a tank top and a pair of gym shorts. She looked Allison up and down, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "You look like you're going to a funeral."

Allison frowned and pushed past her. She sat down on the bed and put on her shoes and socks as Danielle started yanking clothes out of the closet. Allison was unabashedly envious of her older sister. Not only was she beautiful in a way that Allison would never be, but she was a genius. She'd already been accepted to Harvard, where their older brother Tom was already a student. One year at Harvard would cost them more than a new car (which they needed), but apparently that didn't matter. They'd already taken out a second mortgage to pay for Tom's tuition; what was another twenty grand a year?

When Allison looked up, Danielle was already dressed in an aqua skirt and a white off-the-shoulder top. When she caught Allison looking at her, Danielle lifted her eyebrows. "It's called color. You should try it sometime."

Allison rolled her eyes and stood up from the bed, going into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. By the time she got downstairs, Danielle was already there, along with five other members of their family. The twins Jenny and Michelle, who were in middle school, were eating cereal at the kitchen table next to their father, who was sipping coffee between bites of toast. Her mother was at the kitchen counter making everyone sandwiches while her little brother Steven played with a yo-yo in the corner. Allison took a seat at the table and reached for the cereal.

"Dad, I need money for school."

Mr. Reynolds glanced up at his youngest daughter. "For what? Your mom is making you lunch."

Michelle rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but what if I want a Coke or something?"

Mr. Reynolds sighed and pulled out his wallet. He gave Michelle a quarter, which she turned her nose up at, but accepted nonetheless. He started to put the wallet away, but Jenny cleared her throat and held out her hand as well. He sighed and dug out another quarter, depositing it in her hand. Without looking over at Allison to see if she needed any money, he stood up from the table and put the wallet back into his pocket.

"I need you to pick up the girls this afternoon, Robert."

Allison glanced over at her mother, who was stuffing bags of chips into the brown paper sacks she had lined up along the counter. Allison knew what was in there; it was the same almost everyday. Ham and mayonnaise sandwich, bag of potato chips, bag of carrot sticks or grapes. Allison reached over towards the counter and grabbed a stray sandwich bag from the counter, hoping her mother wouldn't notice. She didn't.

"I have a meeting until five," said her father.

"Well, I'm showing three different houses this afternoon."

Jenny leaned back in her seat and looked over at her parents. "Stephanie's mom can take us home."

Mr. Reynolds nodded with satisfaction and looked over at his wife. "Problem solved."

Mrs. Reynolds nodded distractedly and stuffed the remaining bags of carrot sticks into the lunch sacks. Allison sighed. Apparently, her parents had forgotten that she would also need a ride. Which meant that she'd have to take the bus again.

"Steven, can you stop playing with that yo-yo? It's driving me nuts."

Allison's brother, who was only eight, looked up at his mother and frowned. "I'm trying to walk the dog."

"We don't have a dog."

"I meant the yo-yo."

"Well, do it somewhere else."

Steven pushed up his glasses, which were as thick as Coke bottles, and walked out of the kitchen. Allison felt a little pang of sadness as she watched him leave. In a family of geniuses and go-getters, she and Steven were the only average ones. Jenny and Michelle had skipped two grades apiece and went to a tutor, who taught them Latin and Trigonometry… and they weren't even taking Latin or Trigonometry. Tom graduated from high school a year early and Danielle was going to be valedictorian if all went according to plan. That left Steven and Allison, who made average grades and hadn't learned to read until they were at least six. The were the family losers. The Losers and the Forgotten.

"Is everyone ready?"

Allison glanced up at her father, who was looking at his watch. She remembered the plastic bag in her hand and grabbed the box of cereal from the center of the table. As her sisters went into the living room for their backpacks, Allison filled the plastic sandwich bag with as much cereal as would fit and slipped it into her skirt pocket.

"Don't forget your lunches!"

Allison grabbed a sack from the counter and looked up at her mother, who didn't seem to notice she was standing there. She opened her mouth to tell her good morning or good bye or something, but before she could, Jenny bumped into her as she reached for one of the other bags. "Sorry," she said, not looking up.

Mr. Reynolds came back into the kitchen, Steven, Danielle and Michelle trailing behind him. "Okay, let's go."

Allison remembered her knapsack, which was still upstairs in her room. "Wait, I need my bag." She hurried upstairs and grabbed the knapsack from the foot of her bed. By the time she got downstairs, the kitchen was empty. Allison panicked and pushed open the door to the garage, where her parents' car was still parked. The family van was already backing down the driveway, ready to pull out onto the street. Allison ran down the driveway, knapsack knocking against her hip, and reached the van just before it started off down the street.

If it hadn't happened a hundred times before, she might have been offended.

_

* * *

7:28 A.M._

Bender opened his eyes on Friday morning to find that the sun was already out, shining through a hole in the curtains. He shifted a bit, groaning softly when he realized that he had a headache the size of Illinois. Not to mention the fact that he was nauseous. Two of the many side effects of an entire case of Budweiser.

When Bender glanced to his left, he remembered side effect number three. Janie was curled up in a ball on the far side of her bed, right next to the wall. Sometime during the night, she'd kicked off the sheets, leaving her legs and stomach exposed. Fortunately, she was still wearing underwear and a t-shirt, meaning that there was less of a chance that they'd done something really stupid the night before.

Yeah, right.

Bender rolled over and got out of bed, throwing on a pair of faded jeans and a white t-shirt that he'd discarded the night before. Janie squirmed on the bed, her knees gathering even closer against her flat, pale stomach. Bender felt a twinge of desire, but he pushed it out of his mind and looked away, grabbing a green flannel shirt from the floor. Just as he was pulling on his denim jacket, Janie rolled over on the bed and opened her eyes. "Hey," she said sleepily.

Bender froze. "Hey."

Janie ran a hand through her long brown hair. "What time is it?"

Bender looked at the small clock on her dresser. "About 7:30."

"Oh." Janie didn't make a move to get up. Her eyes locked onto his and he knew that if he'd wanted to, she would have let him do just about anything right then. Which was the problem.

"Gotta go."

Janie nodded, disappointed. "Okay," she said quietly. She sat up straight in bed and gathered her yellow quilt against her chest, covering her body.

Bender rubbed his forehead, trying to get rid of his headache. "I'll see you later."

"Are you going to be at Harrison's tonight?"

Bender shrugged. "Probably." He grabbed his scarf from the floor and took a couple of steps towards the door.

"John."

Bender turned in time to see Janie take a deep breath. "Maybe I'll see you there." She paused and shot him a sexy, if tired, smile. "Maybe you can walk me home again."

Bender shrugged. "Maybe." Without waiting for her response, he walked out of the room and into the hallway.

He slipped through the front door unnoticed and started down the street, sliding his sunglasses into his pocket as he walked. It took him about twenty minutes to get to school, a little quicker than the trip from his own house. He cut across the football field like he always did and slipped under the bleachers. Several dozen yards away, Zeke and Davis were smoking cigarettes and chatting idly. Bender came up behind Zeke and grabbed the cigarette from between his fingers.

"Hey!"

Bender ignored him and took a long drag, blowing a puff of smoke in his friend's face. Zeke rolled his eyes and yanked the cigarette back. "Get your own damn cigarettes."

"Why? It's cheaper if I just smoke yours."

Zeke shook his head and muttered something under his breath. Davis grinned lazily from his seat in the grass. "Saw you leave last night, man."

Bender arched his eyebrow. "Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"You and Janie looked pretty trashed."

Bender just stared at him, waiting for him to make his point.

Davis lifted his cigarette to his mouth and took another drag before looking up at Bender again. "So, how was she?"

Bender shrugged. "I don't remember."

Davis let out a sharp chuckle. "You don't _remember_? What the fuck, man? If I did someone like Janie, I'd sure as hell want to remember. Hit the rewind button in the morning, relive the dream."

Zeke shot Davis a disgusted look. "Can you please learn to keep stuff like that to yourself?"

Davis shrugged. "She's hot, dude. Tell me you wouldn't do her if you got the chance."

Zeke continued glaring at his friend for a moment before glancing over at Bender, who hadn't made a move to sit down. "You goin' to class?"

Bender looked over at the side entrance to the school, pausing thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess so."

Zeke nodded. "Well…" He shrugged. "Have a good day."

Bender removed his sunglasses from his front jacket pocket and slid them on. "Thanks… I have a feeling it's going to be pretty interesting."


	2. Snob, Failure and Villain

A/N: Thanks for all of the encouragement to continue!

* * *

Chapter Two: The Snob, the Failure and the Villain

* * *

_7: 32 A.M._

Claire Standish stood in front of her full-length mirror, admiring the view. She had to admit that she did look nice. Pink was a good color for her and she definitely needed to keep that in mind next time she went shopping. She smoothed out a tiny wrinkle at the top of her linen skirt and stepped away from the mirror, walking over to the vanity right next to the bathroom door. She spent a moment fixing her eye makeup and applying a fresh coat of lip gloss. There. Perfect.

Her father was in the dining room drinking coffee when she walked in. He glanced up at her and smiled. "Morning, Princess. How did you sleep?"

Claire took a seat at the table and sighed. "Fine."

Her father furrowed his brow in concern. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Nothing." Claire sighed again and looked up at him. "It's nothing, really."

"Tell me." He gave her an encouraging smile. "Maybe I can help."

"Well…" Claire brushed a piece of lint from her shirt and took a deep breath. "It's just that I was getting dressed this morning and I realized that I had almost nothing to wear."

Mr. Standish frowned. "I'm sure you're exaggerating, honey."

"I'm not! I stood in front of my closet for nearly half an hour this morning and all I could find was this." Claire tugged at the pink sweater she was wearing and looked back at her father expectantly.

Mr. Standish looked confused. "That's a lovely sweater. You look beautiful in it."

"But, Daddy, it's so out of style." Claire sighed and played with a napkin sitting in front of her. "If you could see what the girls at school are wearing, you'd understand."

"Well, now, I don't want you feeling bad about this."

Claire looked up, refusing to smile. "How can I not? People are going to start making fun of me if I keep wearing stuff like this."

Her father's face flashed with confusion and horror at the idea of his only daughter being make fun of and he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. "Here. I want you to take this with you." He pulled out a gold credit card and handed it to Claire. "You just get whatever you need, alright, Princess? Whatever you need."

Claire shot her father a grateful smile. "Thank you, Daddy."

Her father nodded solemnly and returned the wallet to his back pocket. Claire slipped the credit card into her purse just as a horn sounded out front. "That's Heather." Claire stood up and gave her father a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Daddy."

Mr. Standish beamed. "Have a good day, pumpkin."

Claire smiled sweetly. "You, too."

Heather was sitting in the driveway, checking her teeth in the rearview mirror of her silver BMW. Claire opened the door and plopped down, releasing a deep breath.

Heather looked over at her, taking in her friend's sour expression. "What's wrong with you?"

Claire sighed. "Nothing, just my Dad." She paused. "Let's just go."

Heather lifted her eyebrows and put the car in reverse, pulling out of the driveway. When they were out on the road, she glanced over at her friend. "So, what'd he do this time, give you a car?"

Claire glared at her. "No."

"Oh." Pause. "A diamond necklace?"

"Shut up, Heather."

"Because you really need something to go with those earrings. It's about time the bastard finally realized it."

Claire rolled her eyes. "He let me borrow his credit card to go shopping."

"God, what an asshole."

"You don't live with him. You wouldn't know what he's like."

"He gives you whatever you want!"

"Oh, and your parents don't?" Claire scoffed. "Who bought you this car?"

Heather sighed. "Whatever. I just don't see why you hate him so much. He seems like a nice guy."

Claire leaned back in her seat. "It's just… I don't know. It feels so unreal, you know? Like he's trying to buy my affections."

"Well, you let him."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, you took the credit card, didn't you?"

Claire paused. "Well, yeah. It wasn't like I was going to turn it down."

"See?"

Claire shook her head. "It's not like that. I mean, he and my mother, they just fight all the time. It's like they forget I'm even there unless they think they can _use_ me to prove their point." She sighed dramatically. "I may as well get _something_ out of this whole mess."

Heather shrugged, conceding the argument. She pulled into the student parking lot and drove straight to the front row, where all of the seniors parked. It wasn't a written rule, but it might as well have been; everyone knew the seniors had… well, seniority.

Claire stepped out of the car and closed the passenger side door just as a boy on a skateboard whizzed past the front of the car, swiping at the three-pointed star on the front of the hood.

"Hey!" Heather walked quickly to the front of the car and glared at the hood ornament, which was bent slightly. "You asshole!" she shouted after the skater. The boy turned and grinned, blowing Heather a kiss before continuing on his way.

"What a jerk!" Heather huffed loudly and shook her head in disbelief. "Look, it's all… _crooked _now!" She stared at the piece of metal dejectedly, as though someone had just come along and stepped all over her sandcastle.

Claire walked up beside her to admire the damage. "I'm sure you can get someone to fix that for you."

"Still makes me mad." Heather glanced towards the entrance of the school once more. "Stupid stoners."

Claire nodded in agreement and glanced at her watch. "Come on, we're going to be late."

Heather sighed and nodded. "Stupid jerk," she muttered, tossing her purse over her shoulder. "Just whizzing by like that…"

Claire nodded understandingly, tuning her out. As they walked through the parking lot, she started thinking about all of the cute shirts she saw last week at Neiman Marcus and how many she was going to buy. She let one of the football players hold open the door for them as they walked inside and smiled to herself.

All of them.

_

* * *

7:34 A.M._

Brian Johnson was sitting at the desk in his room, staring at a single piece of paper that he held in his hand. In fact, he'd been staring at it for the last six and a half minutes, rereading all of the important bits, memorizing the words. If he closed his eyes, he would still be able to see the paper in his head, every last, horrible detail.

Including the F.

Brian wanted to rip the paper into shreds and burn those shreds until all that was left was a pile of ashes. And then he wanted to take those ashes and spread them out over the four corners of the earth… okay, the earth didn't have four corners since it was a sphere, but the meaning was the same. He wanted to get the paper as far away from himself, and his parents, as possible.

Brian was still glaring at the paper when someone knocked firmly on his bedroom door. "Brian!"

Brian opened the drawer to his desk and stuffed the progress report inside. "Yes?"

His mother opened the door just as he finished closing the drawer. She glanced around the room before looking back at her son, who was sitting nervously at the desk. "Are you doing homework?"

"What? Oh, uh, no. Of course not. I was just…" He glanced at his desk, which was clear except for a jar of pens and pencils. He grabbed a pencil and held it up triumphantly. "I just needed a pencil… you know, for school."

Mrs. Johnson sighed. "Well, hurry up. Your breakfast is getting cold."

"Oh, yeah. Sure. Sorry, Mom." Brian nodded and stuffed the pencil into his trouser pocket. "I'll… I'll be right there."

Mrs. Johnson pursed her lips together and nodded. When the door was closed safely behind her, Brian let out a long sigh of relief, slumped down onto the desk and closed his eyes. For a moment, he just lay there, forehead pressed against the wood, eyelashes fluttering against the slick surface. It felt good to not have to move, to just sit in silence without anyone giving orders or asking questions. For that moment, no one expected anything from him… and he liked it.

But peace like that doesn't ever last. Eventually, reality started creeping back in, reminding him of the things he wished he could forget, like that F. Sooner or later, his mother was going to ask him about his progress report and he would have no choice but to give it to her. And then what was he going to do? Tell her that it didn't matter? Tell her that Yale and Stanford would understand, that Harvard wouldn't hold one tiny, insignificant little F against him? Chances are, he wouldn't even get the chance; his mother would start the yelling before he could even open his mouth. Brian felt his stomach turn over at the thought. He couldn't go through that. He just couldn't. He would do anything not to let it happen. Anything. He would take a bus down to Mexico, ride in the back of a pick-up truck with a gang of drug lords and jewel smugglers. He would take a plane to Fiji and eat nothing but coconuts and leaves and bird poop for the rest of his life. He would go to the four corners of the earth, whether they existed or not, just to get away from his mother and father. He would go anywhere, do anything, to avoid telling them about that F.

And suddenly everything was clear.

Without hesitating, Brian jumped out of his chair and ran over to his closet. He flung open the door and dropped down to his knees, yanking a large camping bag from the corner and dragging it out into the open. His fingers trembled with excitement and more than a little bit of fear as they pulled open the flap and pushed aside canteens and bug repellent and rain gear, finally settling on a small box at the bottom of the bag.

Only serious campers carried flare guns; the average guy in a sleeping bag at the edge of the woods hardly needed be lugging one around since the chances that he would actually need to use it were slim to none. But Bill Johnson _was_ serious about camping and enjoyed traveling deep into the woods, where it would be days, months or even years before anyone would ever find him should he get lost. And even then it would just be his bones.

Brian returned to his seat at his desk and opened the box very slowly, wondering exactly how sensitive flare guns were. Would it go off if he touched it? Or breathed on it? Somehow he didn't think so, but he wasn't exactly sure. He admired it for a moment before someone knocked sharply on his door.

"Brian!"

Brian's heart jumped into his throat. He slammed the box shut, flinching as he did so and hoping that it really _wouldn't_ go off that easily. He looked around for a place to hide it and settled on his backpack, which was lying at his feet, propped up against the leg of the desk. He stuffed the box inside just before his mother opened the door.

"Brian, what are you _doing_ in here?"

Brian took a shallow breath, wondering if his heart was pounding loud enough for his mother to hear him. "Um, I'm just-"

"You have school in fifteen minutes!"

Brian's eyes widened. "Um, I'm really sorry, Mom. I was just-"

Brian's mother let out an exasperated sigh. "Just go. Your father is waiting for you in the living room."

Brian glanced down at his backpack. "Um, sure. I'll… I'll be there in a min-"

"You said that ten minutes ago. Now get moving."

Brian panicked. "Yeah, okay, but I just need a second to-"

"I said, go!" Mrs. Johnson marched across the room and picked up his backpack. Brian grabbed it from her before she could look inside, but she took this as a sign of compliance. "Come on. They've been waiting for you."

Brian walked ahead of his mother and into the living room where his father and his sister Jamie were waiting by the front door. "You ready?" his father asked, checking his watch.

Brian looked over at his mother, who was watching him impatiently. A flood of anxiety washed over him, twisting his stomach up in knots again. "Um, yeah." He took a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm ready."

_

* * *

7:51 A.M._

Richard Vernon stood in front of the small mirror on the back of the closet door in his office, adjusting his tie. Why the hell he had to dress up everyday just to babysit a bunch of arrogant little know-it-alls was beyond him, but he didn't make the rules… yet. Within a few years, Principal Geller would retire, God willing, and leave Vernon free to step in and take his place. After a few more years, when he'd proven his worth, he'd move up to district superintendent. Then he wouldn't have to deal with the students at _all_.

Someone knocked loudly on Vernon's office door, jerking the vice principal from his dreams of glory and power. He finished adjusting his tie before speaking. "Come in."

Principal Martin Geller opened the office door. "Morning, Richard."

"Good morning, Marty." Vernon stepped away from the closet door, buttoning his suit jacket. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, not much. Did you get that memo I sent you about the faculty meeting next Wednesday?"

"Yes. Yes, I did." Vernon wrinkled his brow with concern, hoping the school wasn't making budget cuts again. Last time that happened, his salary dropped by nearly two percent. "Everything is alright, I assume?"

Geller waved him off. "Of course, of course. Just some policy changes the district wants us to be aware of."

Vernon nodded understandingly. "Well, I'll most definitely be there. You can count on that."

"Good, good." Geller smiled. "You're running detention tomorrow, aren't you?"

Vernon fought the urge to roll his eyes… or cut off his left arm. "Yes, sir, I am."

"Well, you may be in luck. So far, we haven't got anyone on the list."

Again, Vernon had to fight his impulses. "Really? Well, I'm very pleased to hear that." He paused. "For the students' sake, of course. I'm just happy they're behaving and, you know, not causing problems… for the teachers and all." What the hell was he saying? "It just speaks to the kind of leadership we have here at Shermer," he finished lamely.

Principal Geller looked confused, but not displeased. "Well, I suppose it does. I never thought about it that way." He shook his head. "In any case, you may not have to be here tomorrow." He smiled warmly, his pudgy cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk's. "Just have to cross your fingers everything goes well today."

Or just _not_ hand out any detention slips. "Yes, sir," he said, chuckling. "I'll keep 'em _both_ crossed."

The Principal chuckled along with him. "Well, I should go. It's…" He glanced at his watch. "Well, look at that, it's almost time for the bell to ring." He looked up at Vernon and nodded politely. "I'll let you get back to work."

"Well, thank you, sir. I appreciate that." Vernon walked over to the door and followed the principal out into the hallway. "I'll be seeing you around."

Geller gave him a small wave before waddling off to his office down the hall. Vernon shut the door behind him and let out a deep breath. This was good news. Very good news. There was only one thing he hated more than a classroom full of students and that was a classroom full of _bad_ students. And this time it would only take one to ruin what he hoped would be a marvelous day for golf.

If he could just get through today.

Vernon walked back to the closet one more time to check his tie and smooth out his hair. When he was satisfied with his appearance, he cleared his throat and opened the door to the hallway, where the last few students were scurrying to class. A scrawny boy with an armful of books gave Vernon a fearful look and started running faster, eager not to get caught after the bell rang. Vernon didn't tell him that he needn't bother; it was kind of fun watching him try to run with all of those books.

A few seconds later, the bell rang and Vernon smiled.

Let the games begin.

* * *

A/N: Constructive criticism welcome. Please let me know what you think. 


	3. Daydream Believer and a Homecoming Queen

A/N: I borrowed the title for this chapter from a Monkees song. Once again, I would appreciate it if you didn't sue me.

Also, for all of those who have decided that pre-detention fics are your cup of tea, I wanted to let you know that I have another story in this fandom called 'Eyes and Ears of This Institution', which is also set the week before detention. It's already finished and it isn't very long. I'd love to hear your thoughts on that one as well, if you're interested.

Anyway, thanks for all of the great reviews. I'm glad you're enjoying the story.

* * *

Chapter Three: Daydream Believer and a Homecoming Queen

* * *

_8:51 A.M._

Brian arrived to his second period class a few minutes early since the room was right down the hall from his first period class. He took a seat in the first row and pulled out a notebook and pen, setting everything up on his desk so that he would be ready to start taking notes as soon as class started.

When he was through, he paused, staring at the pen in his hand. He didn't really care about taking notes. He hadn't care about it last period either, but he'd done it anyway, mostly to keep from thinking about that little metal box he'd stuffed in his locker right before the first bell rang. What was he thinking? He wasn't, and that was the problem. He'd ripped open that camping bag and taken out that box without even thinking about what he was doing or why he was doing it and now he was paying the price. Today's lesson? Think before you act.

Brian leaned back in his seat and sighed. That was a lie. He had known what he was doing when he took the flare gun; he remembered the chain of events very clearly and he knew what had motivated him to open that closet door in the first place. It was the F. He was thinking about the F and about what it would be like to tell his parents about it and how he would feel when they started yelling and then he just wanted to be somewhere else where he didn't have to deal with it anymore. Mexico? Fiji? No, the flare gun.

So, what did that mean? Why the flare gun? The answer was sitting patiently in the shadows of his mind, waiting to be discovered, but Brian was too afraid look, too afraid to step into the shadows and acknowledge the reality of what was thinking. _I do not want to k…_ He tightened his grip on the pen, focusing his energy. _I do not want to commit…_ He took a few shallow breaths. _I… I want to kill myself._

The pen fell out of Brian's hand and bounced off the edge of his desk, landing on the floor. He didn't notice. His hands were shaking violently and his heart was beating so loudly that he could hear the rhythm in his head. _Bump, bump, bump, bump… _

Brian didn't take any notes that period.

_

* * *

8:57 A.M._

Allison sat in the back row of her second period Health class and played with a piece of string dangling from the end of her coat. The class bored her to tears, but it wasn't so much the subject as the man who taught it. Mr. Wilbur looked like he belonged on an episode of Little House on the Prairie, mostly because of the way he dressed. He always wore twill suits in earthy tones with stupid little bowties and vests. He even wore those glasses that sat directly on your nose without hooking around your ears, so Allison was constantly watching to see if they would fall off when he bent over or leaned across his desk. In fact, she spent more time watching her bumbling, stuttering teacher than she did learning about exercise or mental disorders or whatever else they were studying. He would have been a doctor, she decided. One of those nice country doctors that showed up in a little wagon with his black bag whenever Laura Ingalls Wilder went into labor or whenever Pa got sick. She could see him mopping his brow with a rumpled handkerchief, beaming with pride when the new baby was brought into the world. She wondered if he had really wanted to be a doctor, but had gotten sucked into teaching somewhere along the way.

"Alright, alright. Everyone quiet down now, please." Mr. Wilbur stood at the front of the classroom, raising his hands in the air to get everyone's attention. It didn't work very well since nearly everyone, except Allison, kept talking. He sighed and tried once more. "Please, now. We're going to start class."

After a moment, the noise died down and almost everyone was at least facing the front of the classroom. Mr. Wilbur gave them a nervous smile. "Thank you. Now, today we're not going to be reading from the text as we normally do. We're going to be watching a video."

One of the jocks on the far side of the room hooted loudly and the classroom erupted with laughter. Mr. Wilbur frowned. Allison imagined that if he had a handkerchief that this would be the point when he would start wiping the beads of sweat from his forehead.

"Now, this is not an excuse to talk or sleep or play games with your neighbor. I expect you to pay _very careful _attention to the content of the film."

Allison fought the urge to scoff, but the boy in front of her did not. Few people around her tittered, but Mr. Wilbur didn't seem to notice.

"The subject is suicide and depression." He paused, letting this sink in. "This is _very serious _and I expect you to show the film the respect it deserves."

Allison didn't see the point in respecting a film since it was an inanimate object, but she didn't argue with him about it. Besides, she had more respect for her cat Harold than she did any of the humans in her house, so she supposed that it was possible to feel the same about a movie.

Mr. Wilbur pushed play and the opening credits started rolling. When the first scene began, Allison cringed. From the looks of things, the movie had been sitting around in the Shermer High School film library for at least ten years, probably more. The teenagers in the film were all wearing bellbottoms and the hairstyles were all from the early seventies. The acting was horrible as well. The lines were awkward and stilted and the delivery was poor at best. Allison rolled her eyes, but kept watching, though more than two thirds of the other students were slumped over their desks or propped up on their hands, asleep.

Allison had considered suicide before. Never seriously, of course. Never seriously enough to start planning or setting things in motion, but it did seem like a viable option at times when it appeared that all of her other options had run dry. There were days when her mother wouldn't say a single word to her because she was off showing houses or talking to Tom on the phone or helping the twins practice their Latin vocabulary. There were times when she knew she would do anything for her parents to notice her, to really step back and look at the person she had become. Sometimes she wondered idly what they would do if she really did kill herself, if they would be torn up with guilt or if it would just be further proof to them that she never really fit in with their family to begin with. Allison wanted to believe they cared and, though she knew it was probably wrong, she wanted them to feel guilty, _really_ guilty, for letting her believe that they didn't.

"_Sometimes I just feel like I'm not good enough."_

Allison glanced up at the television, where a pretty teenage girl with long blonde hair and clear, rosy skin was wiping a tear from her cheek. Allison narrowed her eyes at the screen.

"I feel like a loser," the girl continued dramatically. "Like I can't do anything right."

Allison clenched her jaw, but kept watching the video. A few minutes after the girl's tearful confession, Allison watched her smile as she listened to music on a record player with her friend, bobbing her head and snapping her fingers. In the next scene, she was shaking hands with what Allison presumed to be a psychologist. As the closing credits rolled, the girl frolicked in the park with a group of friends, laughing and smiling into the camera, free from the burden of depression and content in the knowledge that her life was worth living.

Yeah, _fucking_ right.

Before Allison could reach into her bag to find an object large enough to throw at the television, Mr. Wilbur reached forward and turned off the VCR, making the screen go blue. "Can someone please get the lights?"

A girl sitting next to the doorway flicked the switch, illuminating a roomful of students in various stages of consciousness. Mr. Wilbur looked a bit crushed and Allison would have felt sorry for him if she didn't hate him so much for making them watch such a horrible film.

"Does anyone have any questions?" he asked loudly, presumably trying to wake up the sleeping portion of his class, which greatly outnumbered the portion that was awake. The tactic failed and most of the students remained draped over their desks, some of them snoring. Allison didn't quite blame them.

Mr. Wilbur sighed, frustrated. A few seconds later, the bell rang and the class stirred to life once again. Allison picked up her knapsack and slung it over her shoulder, starting down the aisle. She brushed past the television cart and, shooting Mr. Wilbur a nasty look (which he didn't notice), left the classroom.

_

* * *

11:24 A.M._

Claire sat in her fourth period study hall trying to finish the Calculus homework she had due seventh period. She would have done it the night before but Jenna and Charlotte had called, inviting her to go out with some of the guys from the football team and she'd accepted, of course, knowing that she could draw parabolas in study hall, where she had nothing better to do since she didn't have any friends in there with her. She'd tried getting her schedule changed at the beginning of the semester when she'd realized that she was all alone, but her guidance counselor had rejected the notion, telling her that she would only change a student's schedule if it was absolutely necessary. Claire told her that it was, in fact, very necessary. After all, what good is a free period when there's no one to talk or pass notes to? Her guidance counselor apparently didn't understand the severity of the situation because she refused to change anything.

When she finished the last problem, Claire looked up at the clock above the chalkboard, which told her that she had three minutes until lunch. The other students must have realized this, too, because everyone started rustling around all at once, opening backpacks and putting away papers. Claire tucked her Calculus homework into a folder and put her pencil into her purse. Her fingers brushed against a pack of breath mints and she removed them from the bag.

"Can I have one?"

Claire looked to her right, where a boy with shaggy blonde hair and a black leather jacket was watching her, eyebrow cocked expectantly. Claire's brow furrowed in confusion… and a bit of disgust. "What?"

"I asked if I could have one of those." The boy nodded at the pack of mints clutched in her right hand. "A mint," he clarified when she still didn't say anything.

Claire wrinkled her nose. "No."

The boy's expression hardened a bit, but he didn't flinch. "Not even one?"

Claire didn't bother to answer this time. She put the mints back into her purse and turned away, straightening her blouse and smoothing a few wrinkles out of her skirt. A few seconds later the bell rang and Claire gathered her books, pressing them to her chest. Just before she stood up, she felt someone hovering over her, their warm breath against her ear sending chills down her spine.

"Bitch."

The boy didn't say anything else, but the chills didn't go away. Claire sat rooted to her chair, afraid to move as she watched the blonde boy walk down the aisle, his combat boots hitting the floor with hollow thuds. When he disappeared through the doorway, she waited a few seconds then rose to her feet, books still clutched against her chest, and walked out of the room.


	4. Bake Sale

A/N: Enjoy! And if you don't, please don't hesitate to make suggestions.

* * *

Chapter Four: Bake Sale

* * *

_11:26 A.M._

"… the atomic bomb on Hiroshima on August 6, 1945 and a second bomb on Nagasaki three days later. On August 14th, the Emperor surrendered unconditionally, ending the second World War." Mrs. Hardgrove removed her glasses and looked up from her notes. "Quiz on Monday over chapter 12." Without any further comments, she closed her notebook and walked back over to her desk, where she began organizing stacks of papers. Andy closed his notebook and started putting away his things.

"Hey."

Andy looked over at his best friend James, who was sitting across the aisle from him. "Yeah?"

"You busy tomorrow?"

Andy paused. "Uh, no."

"Wanna come over? We'll play a little one-on-one."

Andy shrugged. "Yeah, okay."

James nodded and leaned back in his seat. Andy finished putting his notebook away and slumped over onto the desk, burying his head in his arms.

"You okay, man?"

Andy looked up at his friend and nodded slowly. "Yeah, I'm just tired."

"6:30?" Andy nodded and James sighed. "I don't know how you do it, man. I'd be fallin' asleep in class if I had to get up that early."

Andy shot him a skeptical look. "You already fall asleep in class."

James grinned. "Touché ." He pushed his hands into his letter jacket and leaned forward. "You hear about Stubby's party?"

Andrew shook his head. "When is it?"

"Tomorrow night. His parents are in Europe."

"You goin'?"

"Probably. You?"

Andy shrugged. "What else am I gonna do? Sit at home and listen to my father moan when Kentucky beats the shit outta Illinois and gets into the Final Four?"

James frowned. "Illinois still has a chance."

Andy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right."

"They do! Good coaching, solid defense. They even-"

"They're gonna blow it. They always do."

James shook his head sadly. "Oh, ye of little faith."

Andy shrugged and yawned into his forearm. The bell rang and James stood up and grabbed his bag. Andy looked up at him and cocked an eyebrow.

"Get your ass up. I'm not carryin' you."

Andy flicked him off, but James was neither impressed nor intimidated. "Come on, man. I'll buy you a Coke."

"I've got milk."

"Milk has tryptophan, which will make you even more tired. You need caffeine."

Andy wrinkled his brow in confusion. "What? How the hell do you know?"

James lifted an eyebrow. "Uh, because I can read?" When Andy glared at him, he just smirked and kept going. "I mean, I know it's tough for you wrestlers since you go around choking one another and butting heads but-"

"Prick." Andy stood up and grabbed his backpack. "Just for that, I _am_ gonna make you buy me that Coke."

_

* * *

11:29 A.M._

As soon as the bell rang dismissing her to lunch, Allison jumped up from her seat and practically ran from the classroom. She always hurried to the cafeteria at lunchtime because there was one table in particular that she liked to sit at and if she didn't get there early, it ended up being taken over by the band nerds, who occupied the rest of it. They ignored her for the most part, which she didn't really mind, but they didn't hesitate to move in on her territory if she didn't stake out her position ahead of time.

The table was empty when she arrived. She plopped down on the far edge of the bench and opened her knapsack, pulling out her lunch. As the first of the band nerds arrived, filling up the far side of the table and working their way towards her, she started eating, alternating between bites of sandwich and carrot sticks.

After a moment, Allison looked down at her sandwich. She hated ham and mayonnaise sandwiches, she really did. Maybe it was because she hated ham. She didn't think that she did, but it was a possibility. Then again, maybe it was just because she'd eaten the same thing everyday for the past ten years or so and she was tired of it. Allison wrinkled her nose and opened the sandwich, placing the pieces of bread side by side on the plastic bag. The first thing she did was remove the ham, which she decided that she did, in fact, hate, and threw it at the garbage bin a couple feet away. It hit the side and fell onto the floor, but she was too engrossed in her project to care.

The sandwich looked very plain without the ham, but Allison knew that she could fix that. She reached for the bag of carrot sticks and started arranging them on the bread, smearing the mayonnaise around as she worked. When she was finished, she leaned back and admired the finished project. It looked nice and it was certainly different, but she was pretty sure that it was going to taste just as bad as it did before.

Suddenly, Allison remembered the bag of cereal she'd stuffed into her skirt pocket that morning at breakfast. She pulled the carrot sticks off of the bread and tossed them into the garbage bin as well, not bothering to check and make sure that they all got in. She pulled out the bag of cereal and grabbed a handful of the crunchy little balls, pouring them onto her sandwich. A couple of them rolled off of the bread and onto the table, so she used the heel of her hand to crush the remaining pieces into the bread so that they wouldn't follow suit. Very carefully, Allison lifted the two pieces of bread and pressed them together. A couple pieces of cereal fell out from the bottom, but she didn't care, just lifted the sandwich to her mouth and took a giant bite.

The result was better than she'd expected. The cereal gave the sandwich a satisfying crunch and the mayonnaise added moisture, even if it did take away from the flavor a bit. It needed something else, she decided. Something sweet maybe, to balance out the mayonnaise. She'd look in the pantry when she got home to see what she could find.

Out of the corner of her eye, Allison could see a couple of the band nerds watching her. She turned and glared at them and they looked away, embarrassed and a bit disgusted. Allison grinned, mildly pleased that she'd managed to attract some attention for once.

She'd have to remember to pack cereal for lunch every day.

_

* * *

11:33 A.M._

The first thing Claire saw when she walked into the cafeteria was a large table up at the front of the room with half a dozen chairs set up behind it. The poster behind it read, 'Prep Club Bake Sale!' in huge blue letters and had little pictures of cupcakes and cookies along the border.

"Hey, Claire."

Claire walked up to the table. "Hey, Jenna."

"It looks so great, doesn't it?" Jenna, a tall girl with straight brown hair a big, friendly smile, pointed at the sign above her. "Mel and I got here early this morning to work on it. It took us forever."

Claire glanced at the sign again and nodded. "It looks really good." She walked around the edge of the table and claimed one of the chairs in the middle.

Jenna slid onto the one beside her. "Did you guys have fun after we left?"

Claire shrugged. "I guess. A couple of Anthony's friends showed up and hung out for a while, but I left early, so I don't know what they ended up doing afterward." She glanced over at Jenna. "What about you?"

Jenna shrugged. "Nate and I went back to his house to hang out."

Claire watched her carefully. "Did you two have fun?"

Jenna nodded quickly and tucked her hair behind her ears. Claire thought she looked a bit nervous and flushed, but decided not to comment on it. "That's good."

"Yeah." Jenna shot her an embarrassed smile, then started pulling packages of brownies out of a box near her foot. Claire looked behind her, where there were at least twenty small boxes stacked against the wall. She grabbed the one on top, which was filled with chocolate cupcakes, and started arranging them on the table.

By the time Charlotte and Heather showed up, the table was covered in portable, singly-wrapped desserts. Heather dumped a stack of books on the floor next to Claire and plopped down on the chair. "Oh, my God."

Claire glanced over at her. "What?"

Heather sighed and flipped her long brown hair over her shoulder. "Just took Franklin's midterm. That man…" She trailed of, shaking her head. "… is Satan himself."

Claire laughed. "Hard?"

"I'll say." Heather glanced over Claire's shoulder, then turned back to her friend and grabbed her arm. "Come with me. I have to talk to you about something."

Claire furrowed her brow in concern. "Is this about your car? Because I'm sure you can find-"

"No, it's not about the car." Heather grabbed Claire hand and stood up, dragging her from the seat. Claire rolled her eyes and stood up, glancing back at the others. Abby and Melanie had just showed up and were admiring the desserts. "We're going to the bathroom. We'll be right back," Heather called.

The four girls nodded and waved them away. Heather continued dragging Claire across the cafeteria until Claire stopped dead in her tracks and yanked her arm away. "Heather! Stop! What's going on?"

"I'll tell you in the bathroom."

"No, tell me now."

Heather smirked. "It's about Jack."

Claire grabbed Heather's hand and dragged her the rest of the way to the bathroom.

_

* * *

11:39 A.M._

Bender was on his way out to the bleachers when a sign posted by the entrance to the cafeteria caught his eye. It was an advertisement for a bake sale sponsored by the Prep Club and was covered in little picture of cookies and other kinds of dessert. Just in case no one knew what a bake sale was.

Bender pushed open the door to the cafeteria and looked around. The bake sale table was set up along the far wall and was being manned by four girls who were talking amongst themselves. Bender strode down the center aisle, his boots thumping loudly against the linoleum.

"… so then she said, 'Charlotte, you're grounded!' and I was, like, 'Mom, it's only five minutes past!' and she said…" The speaker, a really beautiful girl with curly blonde hair and clear blue eyes, stopped in the middle of her sentence to look up at Bender. "Yes?"

Bender smirked. This was going to be so easy. "Good morning."

The blonde girl lifted her eyebrow skeptically. "Good morning."

Bender glanced over at the other three girls, who were watching him, some curiously and some with more than a touch of loathing. "Morning, ladies."

"Good morning." A friendly looking girl with brown hair smiled at him. "All of our desserts are homemade and they're really good. These cupcakes over here are-"

"He knows they're homemade, Jenna." The blonde girl glared at her friend, then looked back at Bender. "Well?"

Bender arched an eyebrow, then looked back at the brunette. "I'm sorry, what were you saying about the cupcakes?"

The girl shifted uncomfortably and glanced over at her friend, who looked extremely pissed off. "Well, um, they're really good." She offered him a timid smile. "I baked them last night."

"Hmmm…" Bender picked up one of the cupcakes in question and looked over at the blonde girl, who was staring at him, waiting for him to make a decision. "Hey… Barbie…" The girl's eyes narrowed and Bender grinned suggestively. "… what did _you_ bake last night?"

The girl didn't look away, just kept staring at him for a good five or six seconds before answering. "Brownies," she said finally.

Bender nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. "Which ones?"

The girl clenched her jaw and pointed to a group of brownies a couple of feet away. Bender picked one up and brought it up to his nose, taking a long whiff. He pulled it away and looked back at the blonde, whose nose was wrinkled in disgust. "Smells funny."

"Oh, really?"

Bender nodded. "Smells like maybe there's something else in there." He paused. "Some kind of chemical… or herb maybe."

The blonde girl wasn't impressed. "Actually, you're right. I put something extra special in it."

Bender lifted an eyebrow. "Is that right."

"Yeah, just for burners like you."

The term 'burner' amused Bender. "Oh, yeah? And what would that be?"

The girl smirked. "Arsenic."

Bender nodded, secretly impressed that she even knew the word. "Really? Arsenic?"

"Yep."

"Just for burners like me?"

"You know it."

Bender took one more sniff and put the cupcake and the brownie on the table so that he could pull out his wallet. "You know, I happen to love arsenic."

The blonde girl accepted the dollar bill he handed her and opened the box of money to make change. "Is that so?"

He nodded. "Take a little in my coffee every morning. Good for the liver." The blonde rolled her eyes and put the dollar bill into the box.

Bender moved his gaze over to the other three girls. "Ladies," he said, pretending to tip his hat. The cheerful brunette gave him a hesitant smile, but the other two just sneered at him. He shrugged and looked over at the blonde, who was holding out his change. Bender put up his hand and smiled knowingly. "Keep it… there's more where that came from." Before she could say anything, Bender winked, picked up his desserts, and walked away from the table.

* * *

A/N: Sorry this wasn't a total plot-mover (read: filler), but the next couple of chapters will be.

And, just because I'm sure you're DYING to know, Andy was right about the NCAA basketball tournament. Illinois lost to Kentucky, who in turn lost to Georgetown, who went on to beat Houston (sniff) in the Final Four Championship game. I found this info at hickoksports dot com, just to be fair (after writing about eight million papers as a college student, you learn to start citing sources).


	5. Competition

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. Your input means a lot. : ) I hope everyone is enjoying the story.

* * *

Chapter Five: Competition

* * *

_11:40 A.M._

Claire yanked opened the bathroom door and dragged Heather inside. Once there, Heather jerked her arm away and glared at her friend. "Ow!"

"Sorry." Claire looked under the stall doors to ensure that they were alone, then turned back to Heather. "What did he say?"

Heather arched her eyebrows and folded her arms over her chest. Claire sighed. "I'm _sorry_." When Heather still didn't say anything, she rolled her eyes. "_Please_ tell me what he said."

Heather let out a deep breath to show her displeasure, but gave in. "I didn't talk to Jack. I talked to Anthony."

"And?"

Heather smirked. "Apparently Jack likes redheads."

Claire tried unsuccessfully to keep the smile off of her face. "What else?"

Heather leaned against the hard tile wall and looked down at her nails, which were perfect. "He thinks you're really pretty."

Claire's eyes widened. "He does?"

"Well, that's not the word Anthony used, but I assume that's what he meant." Heather looked up from her nails. "He said Jack's been wanting to ask you out for a really long time, but he never thought you'd go for a guy like him."

Claire grinned. "He didn't?"

Heather rolled her eyes. "Sounds like a line if you ask me, but whatever."

Claire frowned. "Oh, thanks."

"I didn't say that he doesn't like you. I just think it's a cheesy thing to say."

Claire considered this for a moment. "So, did Anthony say Jack was going to ask me out?"

Heather nodded. "He said he was probably going to call you this weekend."

"Really?" Heather nodded and Claire grinned. "Oh, God, Heather, do you know how long I've been waiting for this?"

Heather shot her an irritated look. "No, Claire, how long?"

"Shut up. Aren't you happy for me?"

Heather sighed. "Duh. Of course I'm happy, if only because now I won't have to bug Anthony everyday just to see if he's heard anything new." She lifted her eyebrows. "If I fail chemistry, it'll be your fault."

"You're not going to fail." Claire glanced at her watch. "Come on, let's go. Charlotte will start asking questions if we take too long." She looked up at her friend. "Wait, you haven't told her about this, have you?"

Heather glared at her. "Do I look like an idiot to you?"

"Well, I just wanted to make sure. She and Mel talk about everything together and if Mel finds out then she'll tell Chris and Chris will tell the entire football team and then-"

"I didn't tell Charlotte," Heather said loudly.

Claire sighed. "Okay."

"Aren't you even going to say thank you?"

Claire rolled her eyes. "Thank you."

Heather shook her head and held open the door for the two of them. "I feel so unappreciated sometimes."

Claire ignored her and started walking back into the cafeteria. Just as she reached the double doors leading in, she turned suddenly and looked back at her friend. "Hey, I forgot. Can I borrow your car keys?"

Heather reached into her purse. "You leave something?"

Claire nodded and accepted the keys. "I think my billfold slipped out of my purse this morning. I'm going to go check the front seat."

Heather nodded. "See you in a minute." She disappeared into the cafeteria and Claire made her way out to the lot where the seniors parked. After only a moment of searching, Claire found her wallet wedged under the passenger's seat and tucked it into her purse then locked the door after her and started back towards the building.

When she was only a few feet away from the door, she caught sight of a lone figure walking towards the football field. She couldn't see him very clearly since he was facing away from her, but judging by the long hair and the worn denim jacket, he was probably one of the stoners that ate lunch in the bleachers everyday.

She only watched him for a couple of seconds before turning back towards the building and continuing on her way.

_

* * *

11:41 A.M._

"I told you we shouldn't have done this today."

Brian looked over at his friend George, who was slumped over the table in front of him, resting his chin on his forearm. Brian was so tired that he felt like doing the same, but there wasn't enough room on the tiny table for the two of them. Instead, Brian leaned his chair back against the brick column behind him and tucked his feet behind the chair's metal legs.

His morning had gone by rather slowly since all he could think about was the flare gun and his confession to himself at the beginning of second period. He tried, really tried, to pay attention in his other classes, but his thoughts kept circling around the fact that none of it really mattered anyway with the F in shop and the gun in his locker. There were even a couple of times that he almost raised his hand for the pass so that he could go ahead and get it over with already, but something held him back every time. Hope, maybe. Or fear.

Next to him, George reached out and took a brownie from the pile on the table a few inches away and started unwrapping it. Elliot, the Latin Club president, noticed the movement and snatched the brownie from George's pudgy hand before he could start eating.

"These are for sale, George!" Elliot fixed the plastic wrap and replaced the brownie in its pile. "You can only have it if you pay for it."

"But I made those."

"It doesn't matter." When George frowned, Elliot moved in front of the table and started straightening bags of half-burned cookies he'd positioned near the front. "That's why they call it a bake sale. You sell baked goods."

"Well, we haven't sold _anything_."

Elliot shook his head. "Not true. We've made…" He looked over at Brian, who was in charge of the cash box. "How much have we made?"

Brian looked down at the box. "Um, counting the fifty cents George gave us for those cupcakes?"

"Of course."

Brian hesitated. "Fifty cents."

Elliot nodded matter-of-factly as if this didn't bother him in the least. "It's okay. It's _okay_. The lunch period isn't over yet."

"This is a Greek tragedy."

Elliot let out a deep breath and looked back at George. "We're the Latin Club, George. We hate the Greeks, remember?"

"Fine, a Latin tragedy."

Elliot shook his head determinedly. "This is not the right attitude. Not at all. We need to sit up straight. We need to hold our heads up high. No one wants to buy cookies from a group of losers who can't even look them in the eye."

"Yeah, they want to buy them from cheerleaders."

"It's the Prep Club, George, not the cheerleading squad. Know thy enemy."

Michael, who was sitting off to the side finishing his Physics homework, snorted. "Good luck with that."

Elliot pretended not to hear him. "What do they have that we don't?"

George thought about it for a minute. "Uh, short skirts?"

"No!" Elliot slammed his hand down on the table and looked him in the eye. "Confidence! Charisma! They know they've got a great product and they aren't afraid to show it."

Again, Michael snorted and, again, Elliot pretended not to notice. "We've got to regroup, rethink our battle plan. No army ever won a battle by sitting around thinking negative thoughts. Remember the conquest of Italy, gentlemen? Remember that epic battle fought on the shores of Lake Reginus?"

"Regillus," called out Michael, who didn't even look up from his physics book.

"Lake Regillus," continued Elliot without skipping a beat. "Do you remember that epic battle? It was the turning point, my friends, the moment when Rome turned to his enemies the Aequians, the Volscians and the Encrustans and said-"

"Etruscans," said Michael.

"Their enemies the Etruscans and said, 'No! We will not let you fight over our land like a scrap of meat fallen from the table of the king and into the mouths of the savage dogs below. No! We will not bow down!" Elliot slammed his hand against the table once more and looked each of them in the eye. Well, two of them; Michael was still working on physics. "No," Elliot whispered dramatically. "They did not bow down. And look what they became. The greatest empire the world has ever seen."

There was a moment of silence before George turned to Brian. "Are we the dogs or the meat?" he whispered. Brian shrugged and George looked back at the stack of brownies a few inches away, his eyes filled with longing and desire.

Without warning, a boy wearing a blue letter jacket appeared next to Brian at the far end of the table. He reached out and grabbed a handful of brownies, then turned to Elliot, who was standing in front of the table, and clapped him on the back. "Hey, I forgot my money. You won't mind if I take a couple of these, do you?"

Elliot frowned. "Well, actually, I-"

"Aw, thanks. I knew you'd understand." He nodded at Brian and George. "Later." Then he walked away.

Elliot watched the jock leave, then turned back to the table and started filling the bare spot in the middle with bags of cookies. "This is just a minor setback, gentlemen. Every great nation has faced them dozens, nay, hundreds of times."

"So, was that an Aequian or an Encrustan?"

Elliot didn't even blink in Michael's direction. "You can't win a war without making a few sacrifices. In the grand scheme of things, this means nothing."

George sighed and slumped forward again, leaning his chin against his arm. "Easy for you to say. Those were good brownies."

_

* * *

11:47 A.M._

Andy bit into his ham and cheese sandwich and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. On the other side of the table, James was working his way through a small bag of cookies and a can of Coke. He glanced up at Andy and grinned, then motioned at the can next to Andy's lunch sack. Andy rolled his eyes and nodded. Yes, James was right about the Coke.

Andy glanced to his right, where he had a better view of the rest of the table. He ate with the jocks, of course, but not exclusively. Their table was a hodgepodge of athletes and former athletes who'd known one another since kindergarten. In addition to the wrestlers, there were also baseball, football and basketball players, with the odd lacrosse or hockey player thrown in for good measure. Some of them, like James, didn't play anymore due to injury or disinterest, but sports was the common denominator that fueled some surprisingly intense discussions about strategy and technique. So, what was the topic of conversation just one day before Illinois battled it out for a position in the Final Four?

Sex, of course.

"Dude, she was givin' you the look all night."

Nate, one of the football players, shrugged. "I guess."

Anthony just stared at him. "So, what happened?"

Nate bit into his orange. "Why the hell should I tell you? A true gentleman never kisses and tells."

"I didn't ask about a gentleman. I asked about you."

Nate glared at him. "Ha friggin' ha."

Chris, one of Nate's teammates, walked up to the head of the table with a pile of brownies cradled in the crook of one arm. "Dessert anyone?"

Everyone at the table raised his hand. Chris tossed the brownies into a pile at the center of the table and sat down to enjoy the one he'd saved for himself. There weren't enough for everyone, but Andy managed to grab one of the packages before they disappeared.

"… and then you're going to carry the three… the other three… the _three_."

Andy looked to his left, where two of the baseball players, Frank and A.J., were having a study session. Frank was going to be valedictorian if he didn't screw anything up and the guys depended on his expertise to get through their own classes. Every day, from 11:29 to 12:16, Frank "tutored" his buddies in everything from Calculus to Shakespeare and didn't ask for anything in return. Andy knew for a fact that he would have failed Mr. Henson's Geometry final during his sophomore year if Frank hadn't spent three consecutive lunch periods explaining polygons and trapezoids.

"So, you're really not gonna tell?"

Andy looked back to his right, where Anthony was still badgering Nate about his activities from the night before. "No, I'm not gonna tell," Nate insisted.

"Why not?" Anthony asked.

"Because nothing happened," Andy interjected.

"That's not true!" Nate exclaimed before he could stop himself. Anthony hooted and clapped Nate on the back. Nate sighed and turned to Andy. "You're an asshole."

Andy grinned. "Who're we talkin' about anyway?"

"Jenna Davis," offered Anthony.

Andy nodded. "I know her."

"Well, apparently not as well as our friend Nate."

Nate elbowed Anthony in the gut and stood up from the table. "You guys are such jerks." Without saying anything else, he grabbed his empty lunch sack and walked away.

Andy looked over at Anthony and frowned. "What's wrong with him?"

Anthony shrugged. "P.M.S."

Andy rolled his eyes. "No, really."

"How the hell should I know?"

Andy sighed and went back at his lunch. He stuffed the last bit of brownie into his mouth and looked across the table at James, who was taking long sips of his Coke. When he saw Andy looking at him, he smiled and lifted the can in a silent toast. Andy rolled his eyes and finished off the rest of his own Coke.

_

* * *

11: 48 A.M._

Bender made his way out to the football field and up into the bleachers, cupcake and brownie in hand. His combat boots echoed loudly on the metal planks, alerting his friends to his presence. Billy and Damien were sitting along the top row next to Davis, who was sprawled out on the bench. When Davis heard Bender coming up the steps, he turned his head and looked over at his friend, eyes widening when he saw what was in Bender's hand. "Aw, dude, is that a brownie?"

Bender narrowed his eyes. "It's not for you."

"But I'm really hungry, man."

"So, go get your own damn food."

Zeke, who had been sitting on the row below Davis, came up beside Bender and grabbed the cupcake from Bender's outstretched hand. "Nah," he said, licking a layer of icing off of the top. "It's cheaper if I just eat yours."

Bender glared at him. "What a funny guy."

Zeke grinned and started removing the foil from the bottom of the cupcake. Bender climbed up to the top row and pushed Davis' legs from the bench. Davis grabbed onto the metal seat to keep his balance and sat up straight then turned and sneered at him, kicking Bender as hard as he could. Bender pushed him over and Davis gave up, knowing when he was beat.

"Asshole," he said. "You could've brought me something."

"He could have brought us all something," said Billy, who was playing with a small metal lighter a few feet away.

Bender unwrapped the brownie and took a small bite. Arsenic or no, it was still pretty damn good. Davis peered at it curiously, then looked up at Bender, pouting. "Just a little bit?" he squeaked quietly, holding up his hand so that his thumb and index finger were less than an inch apart.

Bender rolled his eyes and held out the brownie. "Careful, it's poisoned."

Davis took a large chunk and lifted it to his mouth, apparently too hungry to care. A few feet away, Billy snapped the lighter shut and stuck it in his pocket, then grabbed his skateboard from the aisle below. "Anyone dare me to take it all the way down?"

Davis immediately nodded, mouth still full of brownie. "Me," he called out, holding his hand up in the air.

Billy smirked. "How much?"

Davis wrinkled his nose. "I'm not _payin'_ you."

"I don't know," said Bender. "Should be a good show. He'll probably end up breakin' his neck."

Billy flicked him off and turned to Damien, who was sitting a few feet away, gazing out at the football field below and smoking a cigarette. "What about you?"

Damien looked over at Billy and frowned. "What about me?"

Billy rolled his eyes. "How much you gonna pay me to take this all the way down the stairs?" He held up the skateboard for clarification.

Damien looked down at the skateboard, a lock of blonde hair falling into his eyes. He thought about it for a moment, then looked back up at Billy. "One thousand dollars."

Billy looked annoyed. "You don't _have_ one thousand dollars."

Damien arched an eyebrow, looking him square in the eye. "How do you know?"

Billy shrugged, admitting that he did not, in fact, know if Damien had it. "Okay, fine, a thousand bucks. We're on."

Damien nodded and Zeke stood up, suddenly panicked. "Dude, you're not really gonna do it?"

Billy looked over at Damien for confirmation and Damien nodded, giving him the go ahead. Zeke's eyes widened. "You're gonna kill yourself!"

"I'm counting on it," said Damien.

Billy looked over at him. "What?"

Damien shrugged. "Even seeing you break your neck isn't worth a thousand bucks. But if you die…" He gave Billy a tight smile. "… I get my money back."

"You prick!" Billy slammed the skateboard onto the metal plank below. Bender looked over at Damien, who suddenly wasn't smiling anymore, just watching Billy with eyes as cold as ice. Damien was not someone you called a prick. He was not someone you messed with period, even in jest. He was a quiet person, so quiet that sometimes people forgot that he was even there. He was also incredibly intelligent and was the only one of the five of them who actually went to most of his classes and was likely to graduate when he was supposed to. Bender hadn't talked to him much, but even he was smart enough to know when to back off and when to keep his mouth shut.

Billy, however, wasn't as observant. "Man, I'm done here. I'm gonna go practice on the ramp," he said angrily, referring to the concrete ramp that led from the student parking lot to an entrance on the second floor. Billy honestly believed that the ramp was created for that very purpose and was genuinely bewildered when the school authorities would chastise him for using it to practice with his skateboard.

Billy took the steps two at a time, his beat up Vans thumping loudly against the metal planks. Bender watched him until he reached the bottom, then looked over at Damien, who was also watching Billy leave, his gaze steady and his eyes narrowed. After a moment, Damien turned slowly to look at Bender and Bender knew instinctively that Damien had known he was watching him the entire time. Damien gave Bender an ironic smile, then pulled his black leather jacket closer to his body and took another drag on his cigarette.

Bender felt something brush against his outstretched hand and looked down to see Davis picking up the last piece of brownie off of the wrapper. He looked up at Bender and flashed him a childlike grin, then stuffed the piece of brownie in his mouth. Bender didn't say anything to him, just threw the crumbs in his friend's lap and kicked him in the shin with the tip of his combat boot.

* * *

A/N: I may be a history major, but, believe it or not, I am not an expert in Roman military history. I found the information (or misinformation, whichever the case may be) in Elliot's speech at unrv dot com.

Please review if you have any suggestions or comments. Thanks. : )


	6. The Outside Looking In

A/N: Kristen, you asked about the connections between the characters. I do like to make connections between my characters in fics, but catching all of those connections isn't required to follow the storyline. But just to clear things up, here it is:

Jenna is Claire's friend and Nate sits at Andy's table; Jenna and Nate's "adventures" from the night before will come up again in future chapters. Anthony is the guy that Heather and Claire were talking about, but Jack, whom you haven't met, is the guy Claire likes. Anthony was just the middleman between Jack and Heather and was basically just a link in the gossip chain. Chris, who showed up at the jock table with brownies, is the guy that stole them from the Latin Club's bake sale table. Damien is indeed the guy who wanted Claire's mints (just one) and Billy, the skateboarder, is the guy that messed up Heather's car that morning in the parking lot. Last but not least, Bender (you may remember him from the movie) is the "lone figure" Claire saw walking out to the bleachers.

Man, I think I've confused even myself. What's MY name again? Anyway, hope that helps. : )

* * *

Chapter Six: The Outside Looking In

* * *

_12:00 P.M._

At noon, Vernon left the comfort of his desk (and the discomfort of his lunch, which consisted of turkey on wheat for the fourth time in a row, despite the fact that he told his wife, as politely as he knew how, that he hated turkey _and_ wheat and that he hated them twice as much when they were put together) to make his rounds. He started just outside of the cafeteria and worked his way through the halls outside of the gym, then exited the double doors leading out to the faculty parking lot.

Vernon was halfway finished with his circuit when he ended up in the student parking lot by the football fields. Looking up at the bleachers, he could see a few of the thugs and drug addicts lounging around on the top steps, a couple of them smoking cigarettes. They hung out up there everyday, but Vernon never approached them, even though he knew that he should since no one was supposed to be up there unsupervised during school hours. For one, he would probably be killed if he tried to get them to come down. Kids like those were in gangs and they carried knives and guns to school along with their drugs. Besides, he didn't really want to have to deal with them. They weren't bothering anyone up there, which was a pleasant change from how they behaved during class. Dragging them all into the cafeteria and forcing them to sit next to the normal kids would be an unpleasant experience for everyone involved, especially himself.

Vernon was coming up to the ramp leading up to the second floor when something whizzed past him, nearly knocking him onto the ground. "Hey!"

The boy, a short, wiry kid on a skateboard, turned. "Yeah?"

"Yeah?" Vernon straightened his tie and took a step towards the boy. "_Yeah_?" He scoffed. "You nearly ran me over, you little punk!"

The boy paused. "Uh, sorry."

Vernon let out a sharp chuckle. "You're sorry? Well, then I guess that makes it all better, doesn't it? I guess that makes up for the fact that you're whizzing around on school property--which doesn't belong to you, by the way--on a skateboard that you aren't even supposed to have, during lunch, when you're supposed to be in the cafeteria!" He glared at the boy, who hadn't made a sound. "And you nearly knocked me over!"

The boy didn't move, just stared at Vernon confusedly, as if he couldn't quite understand what all of the fuss was about. It was this display of overwhelming disrespect and stupidity that caused Vernon to blurt out, "That's it! Detention!"

The boy frowned, but didn't seem all that surprised or upset. Vernon, however, could hardly believe his own ears. "I mean… just get off the ramp!"

The skateboarder shot him another confused look. "I am off the ramp."

Vernon looked down at the ground. It was true. He was standing on the sidewalk. "Well, get inside then!"

"What about detention?"

Vernon took a deep breath. "I'll let you off with a warning this time… just because I'm in a good mood."

The boy didn't say anything, just kept staring at the vice principal. It was almost enough to make him reconsider the pardon… almost. "Well, go on! Get inside!"

The boy shrugged and walked towards the entrance of the building, holding his skateboard against his hip. Vernon watched him leave, then let out a huge breath. That could have been bad. Very bad. He would have to be more careful about his little outbursts. He was so used to giving detentions that it was actually harder to hold his tongue than to hand out punishment.

Vernon sighed and checked his watch. Less than three hours to go until the final bell rang. Three hours free from discipline and detention slips and he was headed for the golf course.

He could almost smell the fresh-cut grass.

_

* * *

12:19 P.M._

When Allison got to her fifth period art class, she found the room almost empty, which was good since the best seats tended to get snatched up rather quickly. Allison preferred the table in the back, where most of the real artists sat. She didn't belong to their "group", partially because she didn't consider herself a real artist and partially because they didn't really have a group. Most of the serious artists liked to sit by themselves so that they wouldn't be bothered and Allison felt roughly the same way, though for what she assumed were different reasons. Most of the time, they didn't even speak to one another, much less the other students. Allison wasn't even sure if any of them knew her name.

At the table next to hers, two of the "pretty girls" were chatting idly as they waited for class to start. Allison didn't like either of them since they ignored virtually everyone else in the class, but she did have to admit that they were good artists. She'd peeked at their work when they weren't looking and had been impressed by the quality of the work, especially the blonde girl's. She was maybe even better at drawing than the people Allison sat with.

"She swore nothing happened, Charlotte."

"Well, of course she _swore_, Mel," said the blonde. "What is she gonna do, come out and admit that they did it? They aren't even dating."

"I don't know. I heard Nate really likes her."

"Dating and liking are two very different things."

The girl next her nodded. "True."

The blonde sighed and pulled out a tube of lip gloss. "He had to have been expecting it. Jenna's got a reputation now and it isn't like she doesn't deserve it."

"You mean that thing with Charlie last year?"

"And Jeff. And Vince. And Stuart." The blonde smeared a layer of pink gloss over her lips and screwed the cap back on. "I know why she does it and I feel bad for her, but screwing every guy she sees isn't going to make her feel any better about herself. If anything, it's going to make things worse."

The other girl considered this for a moment before speaking. "Should we say something to her?"

The blonde shook her head. "No, definitely not. It'll just embarrass her."

"So, what are we going to do?"

"We're not going to do anything."

"But-"

"Jenna's a big girl. She makes her own decisions. Maybe one day, she'll realize that sleeping around won't get her anywhere. Maybe she'll find the right guy or whatever. But it's going to have to be her decision, not ours."

The blonde's friend sat back in her seat and frowned. "I heard some of Nate's teammates talking about her today. They called her a sl-"

"I know what they called her, Mel." The blonde girl was growing frustrated, though whether it was with her worried friend or her own inability to help the situation, Allison couldn't be sure. "Just… just don't worry about it, okay?"

The other girl hesitated, then nodded and settled back into her seat. The blonde girl reopened her lip gloss and absently applied another layer to her already sparkling lips. After a moment, the art teacher walked into the room and shut the door behind her. Allison watched the two girls for a few more seconds before tearing her eyes away and opening her sketchbook.

_

* * *

12: 21 P.M._

After lunch, Bender trudged up the stairs to the second floor where his English class was located. He really hated English and had considered skipping, but the other guys had, for reasons unknown to him, decided to go to class for once. So, instead of sitting out there all alone, Bender had opted to take his chances with Mrs. Baker and her friends Mark Twain and Nathaniel Hawthorne.

Bender plopped down on the back row and, like a pitcher digging in at the mound, started shifting around in his seat to find the best position for sleep. He'd just settled in and closed his eyes when a conversation between a group of girls a couple of rows over caught his attention.

"…left on Tuesday, but they won't be back for another week. My brother was talking about throwing a party tomorrow night, but then he found out about Stubby's, so he called it off."

Bender opened his eyes and looked over at the girls, who were sitting just to his right. One of them, a small girl with dark, curly hair, nodded excitedly. "Yeah, I heard Stubby's thing is going to be big. His parents are on vacation, too."

"Where did your parents go, Abby?"

The first girl adjusted her ponytail holder and settled back into her seat. "Barbados, I think. But the ship takes them all over the Caribbean, so I don't know exactly."

"Why didn't they take you with them? I'd be so mad if my parents went on vacation without me."

The girl scoffed. "Not me. I hate family trips. I'd rather stay home alone."

"Why?"

"What am I going to do while I'm there? Sit around while my mom knocks back margaritas and my dad gropes the serving girls?" The girl rolled her eyes. "I think I'd rather study."

A couple of the girls made faces at this, but all of them offered sympathetic looks… though for what, Bender wasn't entirely sure. Seemed pretty damn perfect to him. Lots of cash, parents that were polite enough to drown their sorrows in affairs and alcohol instead of letting out their frustrations on their kids. What the hell was this chick complaining about anyway? Was there such a thing as too much money, too much freedom?

Horseshit.

"But it's not all that bad. My dad left me his credit card for emergencies." The girl grinned and looked around the circle. "Anyone up for a trip to the mall?"

As the other girls started giggling excitedly and making arrangements, Bender closed his eyes and tucked his forehead into the crook of his arm.

Where was a gun when you needed one?

_

* * *

12:22 P.M._

Brian walked into his fifth period health class about one minute before the bell rang and took a seat on the back row. Normally, he grabbed a seat near the front, but on Friday he was too distracted to think about things like that. Plus, he only sat on the front row so that he could see the chalkboard better and he wasn't very concerned about that just then.

So there he was, on the back row with the stoners and the misfits. Well, not entirely. A couple of the jocks sat back there, too. He supposed that the back row was a good place to sit if you didn't really feel like engaging in classroom discussions or having the teacher call on you to answer questions. Brian, for one, had never really understood the point in going to class if you weren't going participate.

Until now.

Brian opened up his backpack, pulling out his binder and a loose stack of papers he'd stuffed into his bag the day before. The bell rang, announcing the start of class, but their teacher Mr. Wilbur was too busy messing around with wires and extension cords at the front of the room to notice. Brian opened his binder and started arranging a the papers by subject. Most of the papers, which he filed under their respective subjects, were worksheets or lecture outlines. But not all.

At the bottom of the stack was a piece of paper that his shop teacher Mr. Willis had handed him at the end of class the day before. It was a grade sheet for his most recent project, a lamp that he'd created in the shape of an elephant. Mr. Willis had broken up the grade by components and had tallied the score at the bottom. Even though he already knew what it said, Brian scanned the list one more time.

Creativity, 15/15 points.

Classroom participation, 15/15 points.

Quality of construction, 13/15 points.

Fulfilling material requirements, 15/15 points.

Final product, 0/40 points.

Notes: Overall construction was well done, but the wiring was incomplete and the lamp doesn't turn on. Final Grade: 58/100 points. F.

Brian kept staring at the piece of paper until the words became blurry with unshed tears. He had shop next period. In less than one hour. How on earth was he going to walk into that room and sit down at that table and listen to Mr. Willis hand out the instructions for their next assignment, which he was sure to fail? He couldn't. Not only did the idea of doing so make him squirm with anxiety, but there also didn't seem to be a point. Why put himself through another period of worry if he didn't have to?

"Alright, we're about ready to begin."

Brian looked up at Mr. Wilbur, who was standing at the front of the classroom, holding his hand up in a call for silence. A few people quieted down, but most of the students, except Brian, kept talking.

"Please, I need everyone to be quiet. We're about to start the video."

After a few seconds, the classroom started quieting down. Mr. Wilbur smiled and adjusted his glasses. "Thank you. Now, as I mentioned, we'll be watching a video. Please pay very close attention." With that, he turned to the television monitor and pushed play.

Brian looked back down at the paper in his hand. He let his eyes drift over the words and numbers, finally settling over the most important one… the F. He remembered sitting at his desk that morning, staring at his progress report, at the F. He remembered his mother bursting in, her mouth firm with impatience, her voice hard with anger. He thought about his father and his little sister, waiting for him in the front hallway, watching him expectantly as they always did. Always watching. Always expecting.

Someone on the other side of the room flicked the light switch and the room suddenly became very dark except for a beam of flickering light from the television monitor. The F disappeared from Brian's vision, but he could still see it, even when he closed his eyes. His fingers tightened around the paper in his hand and he crumpled it into a tight ball.

"I just always felt like I wasn't good enough. Like everyone expected me to be something I just couldn't be."

Brian's eyes flew open and he glanced up at the television screen, where a pretty girl with blonde hair was addressing the camera. "And I knew that suicide was the only way out."

Brian let the paper ball drop from his hand as he stood up abruptly and walked down the aisle to where his teacher was sitting watching the video. "Uh, Mr. Wilbur? Can I have the pass?"

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much for reading and reviewing. 


	7. Catalyst

A/N: Sorry that this fic has been a bit confusing with all of those connections and all. Just to clarify, the girl talking about her parents in the Caribbean wasn't Claire, but just another girl whose parents went on vacation (remember, Claire's parents are still at home).

* * *

Chapter Seven: Catalyst

* * *

_12:55 P.M._

"…and I thought about going with the Wild Plum, but the manicurist said that it clashed with my skin tone since I'm more of a summer than a winter and she suggested that I go with Creamy Nutmeg, so that's what I did."

Bender closed his eyes as tight as he could and brought his shoulders up to his ears in an attempt to block out the sound of 3 girls oohing and ahing over their friend's choice of nail color. He had been trying to block them out for the last thirty minutes, but so far nothing was working. Their teacher Mrs. Baker had handed out worksheets and given them the option of completing it in groups or alone. The girls, of course, couldn't stand the thought of working by themselves and had arranged their chairs in a little circle for some girl talk.

"I think I need to start going to your manicurist. Last time I went, I asked for Summer Rose and she used the Tawny Rose. It looks so bad."

Bender suddenly had a very strong urge to pluck out his eyeballs with a rusty knife. Not having said knife available, he stood from his chair and walked up to Mrs. Baker, who was grading papers at her desk. "Can I have the pass?"

Mrs. Baker, a senile old bat who'd been teaching at Shermer since at least the 18th century, smiled up at him. "Of course."

Bender snatched the wooden bathroom pass from the edge of the chalkboard and walked out into the hallway. He didn't have any particular destination in mind, but thought that he might go out to the bleachers and see if any of the others had grown bored in their classes, too. Chances were, Davis and Billy were back there already, smoking cigarettes and discussing who was hotter, Cheryl Tiegs or Christy Brinkley.

"What are you doing out of class?"

Bender looked up to see Vice Principal Vernon standing in front of him a few feet away. Bender smiled and held up his hall pass. "Bathroom."

Vernon looked almost relieved, which was odd since Bender knew how much he loved to nail stoners like himself to the wall whenever he got the chance. He actually seemed to take some sort of sick pleasure in handing out detentions, suspensions and expulsions. Bender hadn't had too many run-ins with him, but Davis and Billy had told him enough stories about their own adventures for him to be grateful of that fact.

Vernon gave him a curt nod and continued on down the hall, disappearing into the faculty restroom. Bender started walked in the opposite direction towards the football field, then stopped abruptly, turned back around, and headed for the faculty restroom. He stood outside for a moment listening, but when he didn't hear anything, he pushed open the door as quietly as he could and peeked inside. Vernon was in the first stall, his pants pooled around his ankles. Bender released the door, going back out into the hallway. He looked around for a moment, then smirked when he found what he was looking for.

Perfect.

_

* * *

12:57 P.M._

Brian was standing in front of his locker with a small metal box in his hand when the fire alarm went off, nearly causing him to drop the box onto his foot. He looked around wildly, then back at the container in his hands. Suddenly, students and teachers started pouring out of their classrooms, filling the hall and pushing past him, completely oblivious to his emotional state or the contents of the box in his hand.

Brian stood there for a long moment considering his options. He could go ahead and take the gun with him, then sneak off to the bathroom or even an empty classroom. But the idea of doing something like that all alone with so little time to prepare left him cold and scared. Later. He'd do it later when he had more time to think.

Brian stuffed the box back into his locker, closed the door, and joined the throngs of students filing out of the building.

_

* * *

12:57 P.M._

When the fire alarm went off, Allison looked up from her sketchpad and glanced around the room. Her art teacher, Mrs. Stevens grabbed her coat and a clipboard from her desk. "Leave everything here, please."

Allison sighed and stood up from her chair, swinging her knapsack over her shoulder. She followed her classmates out of the room and into the hall, where students and teachers were walking slowly in the same direction. Some of the boys were throwing wads of paper at one another, and a group of girls behind them rolled their eyes at this display of immaturity. It occurred to Allison that no one really seemed all that concerned that the school was, for all they knew, about to collapse into a pile of smoldering rubble. Even the teachers looked bored.

Suddenly, Allison stopped dead in her tracks, causing the girl behind her to plow into her.

"Hey!"

Allison ignored her and turned around, pushing past the students making their way towards the fire exits like a trout swimming into the current. A few people gave her confused looks, but she pretended not to notice, and a couple of minutes later she was back in the art wing where she'd started. She looked around to see if anyone had noticed her breaking away from the crowd, but of course no one had.

Allison smiled to herself and pulled open the classroom door.

_

* * *

12:59 P.M._

Andy stood outside in front of the school building, arms crossed over his chest in a subtle attempt to keep warm. He was wearing only a pair of athletic shorts and a t-shirt, a combination that did nothing to protect him against the cold air outside, but it wasn't like he was going to complain about it or start dancing around like the group of girls to his right.

"Ha! That was awesome!"

Andy looked back to his left, where his teammates Ray and Joel were laughing hysterically. Over what exactly, Andy couldn't be sure, but he could make a decent guess. Two tall, skinny boys in dingy gray gym uniforms were blushing furiously, pulling at their shorts and trying not to make eye contact with any of the people standing around them. Andy bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"Clark!"

Andy looked over at his coach, who was standing a few feet away with a clipboard tucked under his arm. "Yes, sir?"

Coach Dickinson motioned for him to come closer, and Andy stepped forward. "Sir?"

The older man raised his hand up to his chin and looked off into the distance thoughtfully. "About that meet next week…"

_

* * *

12:59 P.M._

Claire pulled her leather jacket closer to her body and looked out over the front lawn, where about half of the school had gathered, separating into tiny clumps of shivering bodies. Next to her, Jenna and her friend Megan were hopping around making little squeaking noises in a desperate attempt to fend off the cold.

"Oh, my God! I should have brought my jacket!" Megan exclaimed.

Claire rolled her eyes and glanced to her left, where a group of jocks were standing, whispering amongst themselves and eyeing a pair of nerdy looking boys standing a few feet away. Suddenly, two of the jocks stepped forward and pulled down the other boys' shorts, letting them fall to their ankles. The jocks started laughing hysterically, and the nerds hurried to collect themselves, red-faced and bewildered.

"Ha! That was awesome!" yelled one of the jocks.

Claire smirked and looked back at Jenna and Megan, who were still hopping around like overactive cheerleaders. Apparently, they had spotted a couple of football players in the group next to theirs and were giggling excitedly, no doubt spurred on by the chill in the air. All around her, people were talking, laughing, shouting, and making fun of one another. For a sharp, fleeting moment, Claire felt incredibly alone, tucked away in a tiny bubble, still and quiet while the world went on around her.

Suddenly, Claire felt an overwhelming need to get away. She looked around at her classmates, who were making their own entertainment as they waited, then over at her teacher, who was speaking with one of the coaches. Claire glanced down at her purse, where Heather's keys glimmered beckoningly from their temporary home. Without considering the consequences, Claire adjusted her purse strap, glanced once more at her teacher, and walked as quickly as she could to the student parking lot.


	8. It Was You

A/N: Thanks for reading!

**

* * *

**

Chapter Eight: It Was You

* * *

_1:03 P.M._

Bender walked through Shermer High School's empty hallways, smiling to himself at the disturbance he'd caused. Not only did it add a little bit of variety to his day, but it also scared the shit out of Vernon, who'd probably crapped all over himself trying to get out of the bathroom in time. Bender didn't know exactly what had happened since he'd left almost immediately, but he could imagine that Vernon wasn't very pleased at the interruption.

"Hey!"

Bender turned to see Mr. Ryan, one of the science teachers, walking towards him. "You're supposed to be outside!" he said.

Bender nodded understandingly. "Actually, I'm with the fire department. We're looking into some suspicious activity."

Mr. Ryan furrowed his brow in confusion. "What?"

"Yes, we're looking for an older gentleman, approximately fifty years of age. Grey hair, orange skin, sour expression."

Mr. Ryan sighed angrily. "Alright, that's enough. Get outsi-"

"BENDER!"

Bender looked down the hall to see Mr. Vernon walking towards him in long, angry strides.

"Ah, there he is." Bender turned to Mr. Ryan, clapping the older man on the back. "See to it that this man is arrested, will you? He's a danger to himself and the students." With that, he turned and started running down the hall.

_

* * *

1:03 P.M._

There were advantages to being invisible.

For one, invisible people didn't have to go outside for fire drills. They could stay inside, where it was warm (though, in the case of a real fire, it might be a bit too warm) and not have to stand around in the freezing cold listening to the cheerleaders talk about which football player they were screwing that week.

At least, that's how Allison saw it. Other invisible people might actually enjoy listening to those kinds of conversations, but she much preferred the quiet comfort of an empty art room, where she could focus on her drawing and not have to worry about being interrupted by her teacher, who thought she was being helpful when she told Allison what a _wonderful _job she was doing.

When Allison arrived back in her classroom, she sat at her favorite table in the back and brought out her sketchbook, her pencil flying over the page in little bursts. After a moment, she stopped and stared at the scene in front of her, blinking rapidly. She hated being alone. Sometimes she told herself that it wasn't so bad, but deep down inside where it really counted, she hated the fact that none of her fellow art students knew her name. She hated that no one noticed that she'd gone back to her classroom, that she ate lunch by herself everyday, that her parents spent more time on the phone with her siblings' teachers than they did speaking with Allison, their daughter.

But then came the confusing part: she also liked being alone. It was the truth, too. She liked the quiet, the stillness. She liked the fact that she didn't have to live by anyone else's rules and that she didn't have to answer to anyone else's stupid questions or stupid assumptions. She liked the fact that she didn't have to worry about what someone else was thinking or saying or expecting. So, how can someone love and hate something all at the same time? It was a paradox.

No. A double-edged sword.

_

* * *

1:04 P.M._

"So, next week's meet."

"Yes, sir."

"You ready for it?"

"Yes, sir."

Coach Dickinson nodded thoughtfully as he stared off into the distance. "You wrestled against Jefferson last year, didn't you?"

Andy nodded. "Um, yeah."

"What'd you think?"

Andy paused. "Well, um, they're a strong team."

Coach Dickinson nodded again. "Yes, they are. Very strong."

Andy wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to that, so he just stayed quiet. After a moment, his coach looked over at him. "You're a good wrestler, Clark. No, a great wrestler."

Andy paused uncertainly. "Thank you, sir."

"That's not a compliment. It's a fact."

"Oh."

"You've got strength and speed, but talent can only get you so far. It takes hard work to be the best. You proved that last year at the state finals, but I'm sensing this year that your drive is waning."

Andy's eyes widened. "Um, no, sir. I want to win."

"Do you?"

"Yes, of course."

Coach Dickinson looked him straight in the eye. "When it comes to competitions like these, there are only two kinds of wrestlers left standing at the end. The winners and the losers." He paused. "Which one are you?"

_

* * *

1:04 P.M._

Bender ran through the English wing, then the Journalism wing, pausing every few seconds to see if Vernon was still following him. The old bastard wasn't all that swift, mentally or physically, but he was damn tenacious, especially when he was pissed off.

After a few minutes of wandering, Bender ended up in the art wing, which was as silent and empty as the rest of the building. He was careful not to make much noise, though he was pretty sure that Vernon had no idea where he was. He crept down the hallways and stopped at the nearest doorway to catch his breath. After a moment, he stood up straight and glanced into the classroom, which was unexpectedly occupied.

"What the fuck?" he muttered.

It was a girl, dressed in black from head to toe, sitting at one of the tables at the back of the room, hunched over a sketchbook. She wasn't drawing, just staring at the page. Whatever she was thinking about, it couldn't have been very good, because her mouth was set in a straight, angry line, and she was sitting so still that she looked as though she'd gone into rigor mortis. She must have been completely absorbed in her thoughts, because she didn't seem to know the he was there.

"BENDER!"

Bender glanced back behind him to see Vernon running towards him from the far end of the hall, his ragged breaths audible from more than fifty feet away. Bender looked back into the room, where the girl was staring back at him, eyes wide with shock. When she saw him looking at her, she made a funny face and slammed her head onto the table in front of her, letting her fur-trimmed hood fall into place over her head.

Bender tore his eyes away and looked back behind him, where he could see that Vernon was less than ten feet away. Bender pushed off from the door and started running towards the History wing.

"You can't run forever! I know it was you, Bender! I saw you!" Vernon's threats were punctuated by uneven breaths, but he wasn't all that far behind him, much to Bender's surprise.

Bender ran out into the main hall, turning the corner so that he was headed towards the Foreign Language department. He ran past the boy's bathrooms, right by the water fountain, where a small water puddle had formed, thanks to dozens of careless students and a faulty spout. Bender, who didn't see the puddle, ran straight through it and ended up flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him.

He lay there for a moment, trying unsuccessfully to catch his breath. Further down the hall he heard voices, then hurried footsteps growing louder as they approached. A couple seconds later, Vernon's face appeared above him, upside down and out of focus.

"Gotcha," he wheezed, taking sharp, shallow breaths. "Gotcha, you little shit."

Bender took another deep breath and grinned. "Speaking of shit, sir, you might want to clean off your zipper. It looks like you've got a little-"

Vernon let out a deep growl, then hauled Bender to his feet and dragged him off to the principal's office.

_

* * *

1:05 P.M._

Allison lifted her head from the desk, peeking out from under her hood to make sure that the boy was gone. When she saw that the window was clear, she let out a deep sigh and looked back at her drawing. She wondered if he'd recognized her, or if he'd gotten a good enough look at her that he would know her face if he saw her again in the hall or one of her classes. Probably not. He was twenty feet away with a pane of grimy glass between them. He probably couldn't even tell if she was a girl or not.

Allison went back to her drawing, and a couple of minutes later the bell rang, releasing the students back into the building. Allison didn't look up from her picture, even when the door opened and students began filing back into the classroom, one by one. No one looked at her or asked why she was there. Maybe they assumed she was a fast runner and that she'd simply beaten everyone back to the classroom. Or maybe they just didn't care.

Mrs. Stevens arrived last and took off her coat, draping it over the back of her chair. "We've got a few minutes left. Just do what you can. We'll pick it up again tomorrow."

Allison stopped drawing and looked at her pencil, which he was clutching so hard that her knuckles had turned white. Maybe she wanted him to recognize her. Maybe she wanted him to tell everyone that she'd skipped out on the fire drill and didn't go outside. And when he did, maybe she'd turn to him, look him straight in the eye, and smile.

Maybe.

_

* * *

1:05 P.M._

Andy stood rooted in place, his vocal chords frozen. He cleared his throat. "A winner," he said quietly.

Coach Dickinson nodded. "Good. I think so, too."

Andy nodded mutely. A moment later, the bell rang, signaling that it was safe for everyone to go back into the building. Coach Dickinson patted Andy on the shoulder, then started walking back towards the building, barking orders at a group of wrestlers that had been distracted by some girls nearby. Andy stood there for a moment until Joel, one of his teammates, came up from behind and slapped him on the back. "You gonna stand there freezin' your ass off all day?"

Andy looked up and shook his head. Joel moved away and started walking towards the building, rejoining the rest of their teammates, who were still pestering the two nerdy boys they'd pulled the prank on earlier. It occurred to Andy that his father might have enjoyed seeing them joke around like that. Andy couldn't even remember how many stories his father had told him about his high school days, about all of the jokes he'd played on guys like those two. Weak guys.

Andy thought about joining them, but didn't. He walked slowly, his sneakers crunching softly on the icy grass, and followed his team back into the building. The locker room was twice as full as usual since the fire drill had put everyone behind schedule, even the class that had gym that period. Apparently all of the coaches had given up on instruction for the day. Andy walked over to his locker, popped it open and sat down on the bench.

"_When it comes to competitions like these, there are only two kinds of wrestlers left standing at the end. The winners and the losers."_

Andy grabbed a roll of athletic tape from his open locker and started unwinding it so that he could wrap his knee, which was throbbing from the cold. As he worked, he started thinking of his father's words from that morning, about his place in their family. What was his father's definition of a loser? Someone who lost matches? Someone who complained, who wasn't the best, who showed their weakness?

"_Are you giving up on me? I won't accept that!"_

Andy slammed the roll of tape down onto the bench. What made a person a winner? More importantly, what kept them from being a loser? The fact that they were strong and fast, or that they were just stronger and faster than everyone else?

"_Your intensity is for shit!"_

Andy took a deep, angry breath and picked up the tape again. He tugged it across his knee, pulling it harder than necessary and sending a bolt of pain rippling up his leg. He grit his teeth and tugged even harder. Once more, then again.

"_Which one are you?"_

Andy looked across the aisle from him, where a tall, geeky looking boy was changing out of his gym clothes. Andy didn't know his name, but he recognized him as one of the boys Ray and Joel had been making fun of out on the front lawn during the fire drill. The boy turned away and started removing his gym uniform so that he could change into his regular clothes. Andy looked down at the roll of athletic tape in his hands and the pieces fell together.

"_I won't tolerate any losers in this family!"_

He pulled a piece of tape from the roll and stood from the bench.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading. : ) 


	9. Best Laid Plans

A/N: I'm sure you couldn't care any less, but I changed the times around a bit because things weren't adding up, but only in the last chapter. Sorry if it confuses anyone.

**

* * *

**

Chapter Nine: Best-Laid Plans

* * *

_1:13 P.M._

"This is very serious, sir."  
"Yes, indeed."

"And it isn't the first time that something like this has happened. We have to keep that in mind."

Principal Geller nodded solemnly and leaned forward in his seat. "Yes, yes. We should."

Vernon let out a sigh of relief. "Well, then I recommend we suspend him. Two, maybe three, days. Give him time to think about what he's done."

Principal Geller frowned. "Well, I think that's going a bit far, don't you think, Richard? I don't think he was trying to hurt anyone."

Vernon shook his head emphatically. "Whether he was trying to or not isn't the issue, sir. Fire alarms are serious business, and they're not to be toyed with. He needs to understand that."

Geller glanced out of the window leading to the main office, where John Bender was leaning back in one of the small plastic chairs, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets and his eyes cast upwards at the ceiling. If Vernon didn't know any better, he might have thought the kid was praying. The bored expression on his face succeeded in removing any further doubts he might have had.

"I think a detention will be sufficient this time."

Vernon glanced over at the principal, eyes wide with fear. "A detention?" he echoed.

Principal Geller nodded. "I think a suspension is taking it a bit far. A few hours at school on Saturday will give him some time to think, as you put it."

Vernon could have kicked himself. "But, sir, don't you think that will be sending the wrong message to the other students by giving him such a light punishment?

"Light? I don't think detentions are light punishment at all. He certainly won't have any fun, if that's what you're thinking."

"Well, no, of course not." Vernon wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and tried to keep his voice even. "I just think that, uh, suspending him will be a much more effective, uh…deterrent."

Geller frowned thoughtfully and looked back outside at Bender again. For once, Vernon actually wished Bender would do something stupid like pull out his lighter or flick off the secretary, just so Geller could see what he was really like. Sitting there staring at the ceiling…he looked almost _innocent_.

"I think he's learned his lesson, don't you? Most students don't realize the consequences of their actions until afterward." Geller smiled benignly. "No need to torture the poor boy."

Poor boy! Who the hell was he talking about? Surely it couldn't have been John Bender, the Devil Incarnate? Vernon cleared his throat. "But, sir, if you-"

"Detention," Geller said firmly, indicating that the issue was no longer up for discussion. "Tomorrow morning." He stood up from his chair and started for the door, shooting him an apologetic smile. "Looks like you'll have to be here after all."

_

* * *

1:14 P.M._

Bender stared up at the ceiling, trying to figure out how a piece of chewing gum could get stuck up there without falling…and if he could do that, too.

"Excuse me, Pam?"

Mrs. Norris, the secretary, looked up from her typewriter and glared at him.

Bender smiled apologetically. "Sorry, _Pamela_. Do you have any gum?"

Mrs. Norris didn't say anything, just looked back at her typewriter and continued what she was doing. Bender shrugged and looked back up at the ceiling. He'd save that for his next trip to the principal's office.

A few seconds later, the door to the principal's office swung open and Mr. Geller and Mr. Vernon walked out together. The principal stopped at the secretary's desk. "Could you write up a detention for Mr. Bender here? I would appreciate it."

Mrs. Norris nodded, and Geller turned to Bender. He smiled hesitantly and adjusted his glasses. "Well, Mr. Bender, I'm afraid you'll have to be here early tomorrow."

Bender nodded sadly, hoping he looked contrite. "Yes, sir."

"But I think we've all learned our lesson for today, haven't we?"

Bender nodded again. "Oh, yes, sir. I feel so gosh darn rotten about that fire alarm. If I'da known it was going to cause such a mess, I never would've done it."

Geller nodded, but Bender could see Vernon standing right behind him, looking completely horrified. Bender did his best not to burst out laughing.

"Well, everyone makes mistakes, but there must be consequences for our actions."

"Yes, sir."

Geller nodded and turned to Vernon, who looked as though he was about to strangle both Bender and his principal. "Well, Richard, shall we?"

Vernon didn't answer, just followed Geller out into the hallway, where students were rushing by on their way to sixth period. Vernon shot Bender a nasty look as he passed by, and Bender smirked and pretended to tip his hat at the older man as the door closed.

"You can go back to class now."

Bender looked up at Mrs. Norris, who was staring at him over the top of her spectacles. He stood and took the detention slip she was holding out for him, gave it a cursory glance, then reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. He removed a stick and looked back over at the secretary, who was watching him with narrowed eyes.

"You wouldn't happen to have a light, would you, Pam?"

_

* * *

1:15 P.M._

Claire stood in the exact center of Shermer Mall, clutching her purse with one hand and looking out at the stores around her. The mall was sub par when it came to quality and quantity, especially when she compared it to the shops in Chicago, New York, or even Paris, where she and her parents went on vacation the summer before. What she wouldn't give to be back in France, wandering around in little boutiques, trying on outfits she wouldn't see in Saks for months, and buying whatever she wanted…in brown _and_ black.

But she wasn't in France; she was in Shermer, Illinois, the most boring place on earth and home to one of the smallest malls she'd ever seen. Usually, Claire did her shopping in Chicago, just a thirty minute drive from her house, but she didn't have the time for that since she wasn't supposed to be shopping in the first place. She glanced at her watch. 1:15. Her fifth period class was over already and she was due in Physics in four minutes, but she didn't really care since she didn't really like Physics. She took the honors level courses because her mother wanted her to get good grades and go to a good college, but grades weren't her top priority. She didn't really know what her top priority was, actually…just that it wasn't physics.

Claire sighed and looked down the aisle. There were only four department stores at Shermer Mall, and only one of them, Saks Fifth Avenue, was worth her time; the other three sold cheap, disposable clothing that she wouldn't wear if someone paid her. Outside of Saks, there were only a couple of stores that held any interest for her. One was an upscale shoe store where Claire bought most of her sandals and summer footwear and the other was a jewelry store.

Claire skipped the shoes and jewelry that day, heading straight for Saks. She'd seen some pretty sweaters at Neiman Marcus when she was in Chicago the week before, and she was hoping that Saks would have something similar. She took the elevator up to the second floor and started walking towards the ladies' clothing department.

Twenty minutes later, she was the proud owner of three cashmere v-neck sweaters, two turtlenecks, one white silk scarf, one long brown skirt with a tasteful slit up the front, and one butter-soft brown leather jacket. She hadn't planned on buying a jacket, but it was warm and beautiful and it looked great with her hair.

Claire took the escalator back down to the first floor, which was mostly accessories and cosmetics, and started wandering around the perfume counters. She stopped at the Yves St. Laurent counter, where they were advertising and special on _Opium_, which Heather called 'sex in a bottle'. Claire took a whiff of the strong, spicy scent and decided that it wasn't really something she'd wear. She moved on to the Nina Ricci counter, where she found L'air du Temps, a fragrance she already had a lot of at home. The small sign next to the sample tray advertised a free bottle of scented body powder with a purchase of $30.00 or more. Claire already had the perfume and the body powder at home, and she wouldn't need any refills for a long time.

But she wanted them. She didn't really know why, but she did. There was something very satisfying about buying things, whether she needed them or not. She couldn't say exactly why it made her feel better, only that she liked how exhilarating it felt to be able to pick up something beautiful and expensive and claim it as her own with nothing more than a signature and a smile. It gave her a rush and filled a void inside of her that she didn't know how to fill by herself.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

Claire looked up at the speaker, an older woman with elegant jewelry and a pleasant smile. Claire nodded and pointed at the bottle of perfume in front of her. "I'll take one bottle of L'air du Temps. The perfume, not the cologne," she added, referring to the more expensive of the two.

The saleswoman nodded. "I'll wrap that up for you, along with your gift."

"Thank you."

"And how would you like to pay for this, ma'am?"

Claire pulled out her wallet and removed the credit card her father had given her that morning. She handed it to the clerk, heart pounding in anticipation, and smiled. "I'll charge it."

_

* * *

1:16 P.M._

Brian stood in front of his locker, staring at the small metal box he'd stuffed in the back behind a row of textbooks. When he'd stored it there in the before his first class that morning, he'd done it because he hadn't wanted anyone to see it and recognize it for what it was--a dangerous weapon--and report him to the principal, who would probably expel him for bringing it on campus.

But Brian wasn't really thinking about getting caught just then. Instead, he was thinking about the fact that he was supposed to be in Mr. Willis's sixth period shop class in exactly three minutes, ready to receive his next assignment. Obviously, he didn't want to go, and he knew that there was a way out, if he wanted to take it. The problem was that he just wasn't sure anymore, and probably hadn't been in the first place. He remembered standing in front of his locker right after the fire alarm went off, imagining what it would be like to…well, to use the gun. It had scared him so badly that his hands wouldn't stop shaking for a long time, even after he'd stuffed them into his pockets and rejoined his classmates outside.

Brian reached behind the textbooks and brushed his finger over the top of the box. A chill ran down his spine, and suddenly he felt very young and overwhelmed, like a child watching an R-rated movie. He wasn't ready to make decisions about…about that. It was bigger than he'd realized, and he wished that someone would come along and talk to him and help him figure out what he was supposed to do.

The warning bell rang, telling him that he had one minute to get to his shop class. Brian felt a wave of anxiety flow over him, and he just kept staring at the box. He had to make a decision. The gun or class. The gun or class. The gun or class. The gun or-

Hands trembling violently, Brian pushed his locker door closed and started walking down the hall.

* * *

A/N: I won't be posting review replies anymore since we're apparently not allowed and have this handy private messaging thing now. If you review (and are signed in), I will do my best to reply, even if it isn't for every chapter. However, if I don't, please forgive me and know that I appreciate your review anyway. Thanks for everyone who has dropped me a line so far. You have been very encouraging, and I appreciate your thoughts. Please let me know what you thought of this chapter. Thanks. : ) 


	10. Crime and Punishment

A/N: The sections go out of chronological order in this section, but you should be able to see why when you read it. They should flow together if you don't let it confuse you.

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Crime and Punishment**

* * *

_1:18 P.M._

Bender strolled into his sixth period study hall just as the warning bell sounded, signaling that the students had one minute to get to class. Bender took a seat on the last row and leaned his chair back against the wall. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket and stared at the chalkboard across the room.

A few seconds later, Billy walked in and started down the aisle to where Bender was sitting. Bender wasn't sure how Billy was doing in his other classes, though he could probably guess, but he was pretty sure that he was making an A in Study Hall. As far as Bender knew, it was the only class that Billy attended with any regularity, probably because it was the only class he had where he was actually _expected_ to sit there and do nothing.

Billy collapsed into the seat beside Bender and took off his ski cap, the static cling causing his short brown hair to stand at attention. He placed the cap on the desk in front of him and glanced over at his friend. "Hey."

Bender nodded in reply, and Billy sighed. "They kicked me off the ramp again."

Bender's eyebrow went up. "No kidding."

Billy sighed angrily. "It's a fucking ramp, for Christ's sake! Why the hell did they put it there in the first place if we're not supposed to use it?"

Bender shrugged, already bored with the conversation.

Billy shook his head. "At least he didn't give me a detention this time."

"Who didn't?"

"Vernon." Billy furrowed his brow in confusion. "It was weird. He gave me detention, but then he changed his mind or something. He said he was in a good mood."

"Maybe he got laid," Bender said lazily.

Billy wrinkled his nose in disgust. "That's…gross."

Bender rolled his eyes and leaned back so that his head was resting against the wall behind him. A few seconds later, the bell rang, and a couple of guys wearing letter jackets walked in, taking their seats at the desks directly in front of Bender and Billy. Billy didn't pay any attention to them, just slumped over the top of his desk and buried his face in his arms so that he could get a nap.

"Hey, man, have you done your History homework yet?"

The jock's friend, a short blonde guy, looked over at him. "I copied Harding's during lunch."

His friend raised an eyebrow. "Can I see it?"

The blonde rolled his eyes, but opened his backpack and dug around until he found what he was looking for. His friend accepted the paper and smiled. "Thanks, man."

"Whatever. I didn't do it."

The other guy shrugged and pulled out a clean sheet of paper. He had only been working for a couple of minutes when he looked over at the blonde jock and frowned. "Are you sure this is right?"

The blonde glanced over at him. "I don't know. Why?"

His friend pointed at the paper. "Napoleon," he said slowly, mispronouncing the name.

"So?"

"So, isn't that a kind of ice cream?"

The blonde just shrugged and went back to his own work. His friend looked at the paper again, deep in thought, then continued writing. Bender could do nothing but stare at the back of the guy's head and wonder how he'd survived so long with a brain that small.

_Dumb jock._

_

* * *

1:31 P.M._

Andy stared at the calendar on the wall in Vernon's office, wondering how the Vice Principal got away with having a pictures of half-naked women displayed where students and parents could see them. Not that Andy minded; Miss March was pretty hot.

Andy looked away from the calendar and glanced out into the hallway. Vernon had been gone for about fifteen minutes, but Andy wasn't sure where he'd gone or when he'd be back. He'd left Andy in his office with instructions to stay put until he returned, but hadn't told him how long that would be. Andy figured he was probably in the principal's office getting Geller to sign off on his suspension or expulsion or whatever punishment they'd decided on.

Andy sighed and shoved his hands into the pockets of his letter jacket. He could only imagine the choice words his mother would have for him when she found out about what he'd done. His father, on the other hand, was a little harder to figure out. Andy couldn't decide whether his father was going to yell at his son for getting in trouble or tell his wife to stop overreacting. At least Andy was the clear-cut winner of the fight; he couldn't imagine what his father would say if the roles had been reversed and he was the one who'd been beaten up.

Andy looked down at his lap as a wave of shame rolled over him. He wasn't the one who'd been beaten up, but he'd forced someone else into that position. What were that kid's parents going to say when they found out what had happened to their son? Would they be angry at Andy for being a bully or disappointed that their son was too weak to fight back? If the other boy's father was anything like Andy's, he was pretty sure that he knew the answer.

Andy withdrew his right hand from his pocket and stared at it for a moment. His knuckles were bright pink and slightly swollen from repeated contact with the nerd's face and stomach, and he'd gotten a small cut on his right hand when it he'd connected with the boy's glasses. He was having a hard time remembering everything that had happened, but little pieces of the fight were very clear. He remembered the look of surprise and fear on the nerd's face when Andy pressed the tape against his skin. He remembered his teammates laughing and egging him on as he tackled the boy onto the hard floor, punching him in the face and kicking him in the stomach. He remembered that the boy tried at first to push him away and fight back, then gave up and curled into a fetal position to protect himself from Andy's blows. He remembered Coach Dickinson and Coach Kilgore running into the room and pulling Andy away, yelling at the others to step back and shut up. Mostly, Andy remembered how the room went deadly silent when Coach Kilgore removed the athletic tape from the smaller boy's butt cheeks. Blood and tape and skin and hair…

Suddenly, Andy felt himself getting sick. His stomach hitched violently as a wave of vomit hit the back of his throat, but he swallowed deeply, forcing it back down into his stomach. His hands curled themselves around the chair's thin wooden armrests, and he took a couple of deep breaths through his nose to calm himself down. After a few seconds, the nausea passed, and Andy slumped forward a bit, burying his head in his hands.

_

* * *

1:20 P.M._

Allison hated English. Not the language, just the subject. It had to be the most boring, pointless class on the planet. For one, her teachers never assigned _real_ books that students actually wanted to read. Instead, they were forced to slog through long, brilliant period pieces like _Great Expectations_ and _The Scarlet Letter _and _Huckleberry Finn_. Allison didn't see what was so brilliant about them anyway. They were old and boring, and she didn't understand how reading about two dumb kids floating down the Mississippi River on a raft was going to change her life for the better.

For this reason only, Allison was relieved when her teacher announced that they were going to the library to start researching for their term paper, which was due at the end of April. When the class arrived at the library, Allison grabbed the first couple of books the librarian suggested and made a beeline for science section, where she knew she wouldn't be bothered. She tucked herself into a corner between two tall bookcases and pulled out her drawing folder.

After a few minutes, Allison realized that she had to pee. She stood up from her spot on the floor and shoved her folder back into her knapsack, leaving the borrowed library books on the floor. She didn't bother finding her teacher to tell her where she was going, just snuck past the check-out desk and walked out into the hallway.

When she'd finished using the restroom, Allison stopped for a drink from the water fountain, then continued down the hall. She was about to open the door to the library when she noticed something moving in the vice principal's office.

It was one of the jocks. He was sitting in one of those uncomfortable wooden chairs, slumped over and staring at his lap. Allison took a step forward so that she could see deeper into the room, but there was no one else with him. Allison looked back at the boy, who was staring at his hand with a mixture of sadness and anger. Suddenly, the boy's face contorted gruesomely, and he doubled over in his seat, grabbing onto the arms of the chair. Allison sucked in a shallow breath, but didn't move or make a sound. After a moment, he took a couple of breaths and leaned forward, letting his head fall into his hands.

Allison didn't know why she was watching him, only that she couldn't tear her eyes away. She stood there in the hallway, rooted in place, until Vice Principal Vernon rushed past her, stopping in the doorway to his office. "Clark!"

The boy looked up, startled. "Yes, sir?"

"Detention. Tomorrow." The older man handed him a small piece of blue paper, but the jock just frowned.

"_Detention_?"

Vernon nodded curtly. "I'll call your parents and let them know about your new plans." He paused, then glared at the younger boy, who was frowning. "Is there a problem, Mr. Clark?"

The boy clenched his jaw. "No, sir."

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow at 7 A.M. Be on time or I'll put you to work cleaning chalkboards." Vernon stepped aside and motioned out into the hallway, indicating that the boy could leave.

Allison looked away and pulled open the door to the library, slipping inside before either of them noticed she was there.

_

* * *

2:04 P.M._

Claire pulled into the student parking lot exactly two minutes before the end of sixth period. She parked the car in its original space and looked around for her things. Her purse was easy to find, but her books weren't there. After a moment, she realized that she'd left them in the classroom during the fire drill, thinking that she would get them when she returned. "Shit," she muttered. Her Calculus homework, which was due next period, was inside of her textbook. She wondered if there was time to go back and get it before seventh period started.

Claire checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror and got out of the car. After locking the door behind her, she glanced through the car window for a glimpse of her shopping bags, which were sitting in the backseat. Heather would be mad when she realized that Claire had taken her car off campus for a trip to the mall, but it was better to have her best friend mad at her than to get a detention. Claire sighed and started walking towards the building.

She was caught before she could even make it out of the parking lot.

* * *

Disclaimer: Allison's opinions about American literature do not necessarily reflect those of the author. Especially the stuff about Mark Twain, 'cause he's bloody brilliant. ;)

A/N: I apologize that I have done an abominable job of responding to the reviews from the last chapter (of all of my fics, but this one specifically), but I've finished the school semester, so I'll have time to respond to them now. Thanks so much for the feedback. If you have anything to say, good or bad, _please_ review. I love hearing from you all. Thanks!


	11. Defectives

A/N: Long chapter, yay. It might be helpful to remember that Charlotte, Claire's friend, is the girl that sold Bender the brownie in chapter four. She was also the girl that Allison overheard talking about her friend in chapter six. Elliot is a friend of Brian's from the Latin Club (he's the one who made the big, dramatic speech to boost morale).

* * *

Chapter Eleven: Defectives

* * *

_2:34 P.M._

Vernon stared down at the piece of paper in his hand, wishing he could tear it into millions of tiny little pieces. Or light it on fire. Maybe he could tear it into a million little pieces, _then_ light it on fire.

Vernon pushed the detention list aside and leaned back in his seat. No, what he really wanted to do was tear _John Bender _into a million little pieces and light _him_ on fire. That arrogant little jackass. Thanks to his stunt with the fire alarm, Vernon was going to have to be there on Saturday at 7 A.M. Of course, if Bender hadn't gotten himself in trouble, Vernon still would have had to be there because of Clark, but that was beside the point. Bender was the one that started everything in the first place, and things had gotten steadily worse from that point forward. The fact that Andrew Clark would be joining them on Saturday made about as much of a difference as someone peeing all over a big, steaming pile of dog shit.

Vernon was still fuming about his ruined golf plans when the phone rang. "Hello?"

"Richard?"

Vernon sighed. "Yes, dear."

Molly Vernon let out a deep breath. "Oh, good. I'm glad you're there. I need you to stop at the grocery store on the way home."

Vernon pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil, ready to copy down her list. "Alright."

"Okay, I need you to pick up some vanilla icing."

Vernon paused. "Vanilla icing," he echoed.

"Yes, I'm baking Virginia a cake."  
"Virginia?"

"Yes, she's got the flu. I thought I would do something to cheer her up."

Vernon blinked. He knew that his wife wasn't the sharpest pencil in the drawer, but sometimes he literally feared for her sanity. "Don't you, uh…do you really think a cake is going to do much good?"

"Well, it's going to have flowers on it, so it'll be really pretty."

Vernon closed his eyes. "No, I meant that maybe you should do something else since she won't be able to eat the cake."

"Why wouldn't she be able to eat it?"

"Because she's sick." When she didn't respond right away, Vernon went on. "She's probably not eating a lot of desserts right now."

Molly was quiet for a moment. "That's a good point. Maybe I should do something else."

Vernon let out a little breath of relief. "Yes, I that's a good idea."

"Okay, thanks, sweetie. Bye!" And she hung up.

Vernon stared at the phone for a moment, then replaced it on its cradle. It was on days like these that he was glad he'd never had children.

A few seconds later, the phone rang again, and Vernon answered it, his eyes still glued to the list in front of him. "Hello?"

"Richard?"

Vernon wanted to fling the phone across the desk. _Who the hell else would it be? It's a direct line to my office, for crying out loud!_ "Yes, dear, it's me."

"Oh, good. I need you to stop at the grocery store for a few things."

Vernon sighed. "What do you need?"

"Milk and orange juice."

"Alright. Anything else?"

"Yes. Vanilla icing."

Vernon squeezed his eyes shut. "I thought you decided not to make the cake, dear."

"Oh, no. I'm making it, but I'm not going to give it to Virginia. I'm going to give it to Tom and Barbara next door."

"Why Tom and Barbara?"

"I don't know. I just thought they might like it."

Vernon started silently counting backwards from ten.

"Richard? Honey, are you there?"

"Yes, dear. I'm here."

"So, you're going to get the icing?"

"Yes, dear."

"Can you get some flowers, too? Because Virginia's sick, and I wanted to give her something pretty to cheer her up."

"I think you've mentioned that."

"So, you'll get the flowers?

"Yes, dear."

"And the milk and juice?"

"Yes, dear."

"And the icing?"

"Yes, dear."

"Okay, thank you!" She blew him a loud, squeaky kiss and hung up the phone.

Vernon replaced the phone on its cradle and rubbed his eyes. _Good Lord, is everyone else crazy, or is it just me?_

Before he could come to any conclusions, the phone rang once more. Vernon slammed his hand down on the desk and answered on the second ring. "Yes! I'll stop and get the icing!" he shouted.

The was a pause before Mrs. Norris, the secretary, responded. "That's very kind of you, sir, but I'm afraid I've got enough at home," she said dryly.

Vernon sighed. "I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else."

"I'm sure you did, sir."

Vernon pretended not to notice the secretary's sarcasm. "Was there something you needed to tell me?"

It was a message from Principal Geller. As Mrs. Norris talked, Vernon curled his fingers around the pencil in his hand, tightening his grip until the pencil broke in two.

"…you get all of that, sir?"

Vernon took a measured breath. "Yes," he said curtly, hanging up before she could respond. He took a fresh pencil from the cup on the corner of his desk, then reached for the detention list and wrote two words:

_Claire Standish_

_

* * *

2:55 P.M._

Claire glared at the piece of paper in front of her, wishing that she rip it up and flush it down the toilet. If she had been in the bathroom, she might have done just that, but she was stuck in Mrs. Pritchard's seventh period Calculus class, and there wasn't a toilet in sight. Besides, ripping it up wouldn't change the fact the fact that she had to be back at school at 7:00 the next morning so that she could sit in the library with a bunch of delinquents who carried guns and knives and probably hadn't bathed in a week.

"For homework, finish the chapter review on page 300. I'll pick up questions one through eighteen on Monday." Mrs. Pritchard finished writing the assignment on the board, then went back to her desk.

"God, you'd think we didn't have anything better to do than to sit around doing Calculus equations all weekend."

Claire glanced over at Charlotte, who was glaring at the chalkboard and tapping her nails on her desk. After a moment, Charlotte looked over at Claire and rolled her eyes. "Just because she has no social life doesn't mean I have to give up mine."

Claire nodded in agreement, but didn't say anything. Charlotte narrowed her eyes. "Are you okay?"

Claire clenched her jaw in anger and released a deep breath. "No. I got a detention today."

Charlotte narrowed her eyes. "For what?"

"I skipped sixth period to go shopping."

Charlotte wrinkled her nose disdainfully. "God, what are you going to do?"

Claire sighed. "I don't know. Maybe my dad can do something."

"What if he can't?"

"I don't know. I guess I'll just…go."

Charlotte arched one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows. "It's nine hours, you know."

"Yeah, I know."

"In a room full of defectives."

Claire sighed. "I know."

Charlotte paused. "Remember that time Mel had detention?"

"Yeah."

"Some guy peed in her purse."  
Claire's eyes widened. "That's disgusting. Who was it?"

Charlotte shrugged and tucked a blonde curl behind her ear. "Some stoner. And he hit on her, too." She scoffed. "As if she would stoop so low."

Claire could do nothing but shake her head in disbelief. "This is a nightmare…"

Charlotte watched her for a moment before speaking. "Don't worry about it." When Claire didn't respond right away, Charlotte sighed. "I wasn't trying to scare you or anything. I'm sure your dad can do something."

Claire nodded mechanically, trying not to think about the damage some burner would do to her new Gucci handbag. "I sure hope so."

_

* * *

3:00 P.M._

Andy didn't take very many notes during seventh period. Mrs. Studebaker, his physics teacher, was going over some review questions to prepare them for their exam on Monday, so it would have been a good idea if he'd at least written down the formulas that he would need to know for the test. Actually, it would have been a good idea if he'd paid attention long enough to find out that they even _had_ a test, but his mind was too scattered to focus on anything related to school. As it was, Andy didn't do much of anything for the entire period except stare at the clock and count the minutes until he was free to go home.

At 3:00, the last bell finally rang. Andy slung his backpack over his shoulder and followed the rest of the students out into the hall. He was at his locker trying to remember what books he needed for the weekend when Ray and Joel, two of his teammates, found him. "Hey, Clark."

Andy looked up. "Hey."

Ray leaned against the locker next to Andy's. "So, what happened to you, man? Did you get suspended?"

Andy shook his head. "No, they gave me detention."

Ray's eyes widened. "That's it? Just a detention?"

Andy nodded. "That's it."

Ray just shook his head. "Lucky bastard. If I did something like that, I'd probably get expelled."

Joel rolled his eyes. "That's because you're a shit wrestler."

Ray glared at him, but didn't deny the charge. He looked back at Andy. "So, can you still wrestle?"

Andy nodded. "Coach talked to Principal Geller. He told him that the scouts will be there next week and he doesn't want me to lose my scholarship."

Ray scoffed. "And Geller agreed?"

Andy shrugged. "I guess."

Ray shook his head. "Like I said, if it was me, I'd be kicked out of school and half-way to a military academy by now. You, they treat like the fuckin' king of England."

"England doesn't have a king right now, you twit."

Ray looked over at Joel and glared at him. "It was a metaphor, alright, asshole?"

"Not a very good one."

"Shut up." Ray turned back to Andy, rolling his eyes. "So, what else did Coach say? About the fight, I mean."

Andy paused thoughtfully. "Nothing," he said finally.

"Nothing? Not one thing?" When Andy didn't say anything, Ray let out a sharp chuckle. "Must be nice."

Andy rolled his eyes and turned back towards his locker. He pulled out his history and physics textbooks and slipped them into his backpack, then slammed the door shut. When he was finished, he looked back at Ray and Joel, who were watching him expectantly. "What?" he snapped.

Joel cocked an eyebrow. "So, why'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Beat up that guy. You know, nerd boy."

Andy shrugged. "I don't know."

Joel smirked. "Bored?"

Andy shrugged again. "I guess."

Joel laughed. "Fuckin' fire drill, man. Might as well have some fun if you're gonna freeze your balls off, huh?"

Andy paused, thinking back to the fire drill when the entire wrestling team was standing outside in the freezing cold wearing nothing but t-shirts and gym shorts. Ray and Joel had spent the entire time pestering a couple of nerds, pulling down the boys' pants and watching them scramble to cover themselves up again. Despite his best efforts not to, Andy felt himself start to smile. "Yeah."

Joel grinned. "So, are you grounded?"

Andy look a deep breath. "I don't know yet."

Joel nodded. "Stubby's party's tomorrow night."

"Yeah, I know."

"You can't miss it, man. It's gonna be huge."

Andy sighed and adjusted the shoulder strap to his backpack. "I know."

Joel nodded and turned back to Ray, who had been distracted from the conversation by a nearby cheerleader wearing a long cut blouse and a pair of stilettos. Joel hit him in the shoulder. "Hey, pervert."

Ray look up. "Yeah?"

Joel cocked an eyebrow. "Are you done drooling yet, or are we gonna stand here all day?"

Ray just sneered at him and, without even saying goodbye to Andy, started walking down the hall. Joel looked over at Andy and rolled his eyes. "Later, man."

Andy nodded. "Later."

Joel nodded back and started jogging down the hall to catch up to Ray, who was almost out of sight. Andy looked down at his watch. 3:07 P.M. It had been over an hour since Vernon handed him his detention slip, and he wondered whether or not the vice principal had managed to get ahold of his parents yet to tell them about his detention. More than likely, he had, and they already knew about what he'd done. The only question then was whether his mother would call him from her office to start yelling at him right away or whether she would wait until she got home from work before she grounded him for life.

Either way, Andy was pretty sure that he wasn't going to Stubby's party.

_

* * *

3:00 P.M._

Brian spent the better part of seventh period staring at the chalkboard and trying to remember what class he was in. Unless he was sick, he hardly ever had any trouble concentrating during school, unlike some of his classmates, who used the time to take naps. He'd never fallen asleep in a class before, but there were several times during that last period when his eyelids would flutter closed and his breathing would become shallow and the only thing that he could hear was the sound of his heart beating lazily in his chest. After a few seconds of dozing, he would realize what he was doing and jerk himself out of his sleep, only to find himself disappointed that his body wouldn't let himself escape from the real world, even for a few silent minutes.

When the bell rang, Brian didn't bother hurrying to leave. He took his time putting his books away and shuffled down the aisle, his body having drained itself of all energy and motivation during the past half hour. He made his way down the hall towards his locker, hardly noticing when another student would bump into him or offer him a nasty look for getting in their way.

He'd just reached his locker and was trying to remember what books he needed for the weekend when Elliot walked up to him from the opposite direction. "The meeting is still on."

Brian looked up. "What?"

Elliot checked his watch. "The meeting is still on. They didn't cancel it."

Brian frowned. "What meeting?"

Elliot sighed. "The Physics Club meeting, Brian. It's Friday, remember?"

"Oh." Brian paused, his brain struggling to catch up with Elliot's words. "Wait, why were they going to cancel it?"

"Because of Larry."

Brian frowned at the mention of the club's president. "What about Larry?"

Elliot raised an eyebrow. "You haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

"He was beaten up this afternoon."

Brian's eyes widened. "Really? By who?"

"I don't know. I think it was one of the wrestlers, but I didn't recognize him."

"You were there?"

Elliot nodded. "We have gym together fifth period. Some of the jocks were hassling us during the fire drill, but they were just being immature, so we just ignored them. But when we got back inside, one of the wrestlers taped Larry's buttocks together and started beating him up."

Brian's eyes widened even further. "He taped his…"

Elliot nodded. "He also broke his glasses."

Brian shook his head in disbelief. "Is he okay?"

Elliot nodded again. "I think so. He went home early." He glanced at his watch again. "But Mr. Ryan said that we're still going to meet. I think he wants to talk about fundraisers."

"Oh." Brian felt his stomach twist itself into a knot. He didn't want to be at school anymore; he just wanted to go home and sleep.

"I think it's going to be a short one today since Larry isn't here."

Brian took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, okay."

Elliot nodded, and the two boys started down the hall towards Mr. Ryan's classroom.

_

* * *

3:04 P.M._

Claire found Heather at her locker checking her lipstick in the small rectangular mirror she'd pasted on the inside of the door. Claire sighed loudly to announce her presence, and Heather looked up. "Oh, hey." She shut the locker door and swung her purse over her shoulder. "Ready?"

Claire nodded, and the two girls walked out to the parking lot together. Heather started ranting about how much she hated her English teacher for assigning so much homework over the weekend, but Claire wasn't really paying attention.

_Some guy peed in her purse…and he hit on her, too._

Claire shuddered.

"…not even listening to me."

Claire glanced over at Heather, who was digging around in her purse for her car keys. "I was listening," said Claire irritably. "You hate Mrs. McMillan. I get it."

Heather looked up from her purse and glared at her. "You could at least pretend like you cared."

Claire sighed. "I do care, alright? I'm just a little bit preoccupied right now."

Heather held out her hand. "You have my keys."

Claire rolled her eyes at the interruption, but didn't say anything, just pulled them out of her purse and handed them over. "Here."

"Thank you. Now, why are you preoccupied?"

Claire sighed again, this time a bit more dramatically. "I got a det-"

"What are all of these bags doing here?" Heather looked up at Claire and motioned through the back window. "Are these yours?"

Claire nodded. "That's what I was trying to tell you. I left campus to go shopping during sixth period, and Miss Marchetta caught me when-"

"What!" Heather's eyes widened in disbelief. "You went shopping?"

"Yes. I got caught when I was-"

Heather held up a hand to stop her from speaking. "Wait, you took _my_ car to go shopping during school?"

"Yes."

"_My_ car?"

Claire frowned. "That's what I was trying to tell you."

Heather shook her head and opened the car door. "I can't believe you did that. What if you'd wrecked it or something? What would I tell my dad? That I let all of my friends borrow it to sneak off campus without even _telling_ me?"

Claire plopped down into the car and slammed the door shut. "It's not that big of a deal, Heather. Nothing happened to the car. I, on the other hand, got a deten-"

"Yeah, nothing happened, but it could have." Heather put the car in reverse and pulled out of the parking spot. "This is a BMW, not an El Camino. It's an expensive car."

Claire scoffed. "Yeah, I know that," she snapped.

Heather just shook her head as she pulled out of the parking lot. "I can't believe you took _my_ car and…"

Claire slumped back in her seat and looked out the window, tuning her out.

_

* * *

3:30 P.M._

Elliot and Brian arrived at the Physics Club meeting a few minutes late. They found a couple of seats in the back of the room as Mr. Ryan continued talking about projected costs for the club's annual banquet, which was less than two months away. Brian's mind wandered endlessly during the teacher's talk, but he managed to stay awake for the entire meeting, much to his relief.

At about 3:30, Mr. Ryan glanced down at his notes. "I think that just about covers it. If anyone has any questions or suggestions, let me know, alright?" When no one said anything, he smiled pleasantly. "Have a good weekend."

Brian let out a sigh of relief and stood from his chair. "Is your dad picking you up?"

Elliot nodded. "Do you need a ride?"

Brian nodded. "If that's okay."

"Sure."

The two of them walked out of the classroom and started down the hallway. Just as they reached the front entrance, Brian stopped dead in his tracks, his entire body frozen in panic. "Wait. I, uh…I forgot something from my locker."

Elliot nodded and started walking in the direction they'd just come from. Brian's heart started thumping wildly in his chest. "No, it's okay. You don't need to…to go. I can get it. Just stay here and I'll, um, I'll get it."

Elliot frowned. "Alright."

Brian let out a sigh of relief. "Okay. I'll be right ba-"

Unfortunately, Brian didn't get to finish his sentence, as he was interrupted by the sound of a rather loud explosion.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, it was a bit filler-ish, but it was also necessary. Please review and let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is accepted and _appreciated_. 


	12. Just Below the Surface

A/N: In the U.S., a magnet school is a public school that specializes in certain subjects like medical science, theater, etc. Parents can choose to send their kids to a magnet school instead of the local high school if they feel like their children aren't being challenged enough or if the kid wants to study a certain subject more in-depth.

**

* * *

**

Chapter Twelve: Just Below the Surface

* * *

_4:03 P.M._

At first glance, the carpet in Principal Geller's office appears dark blue. _Solid_ dark blue. However, upon closer inspection, it's easy to see that red, yellow, white and even pink threads have also been woven in, creating a subtle pattern that no one ever notices unless they look very closely…which no one ever does.

On Friday, March 23, 1984, someone finally noticed. Brian had been sitting in the principal's office for about thirty minutes, staring at the floor and taking deep, slow breaths, when he noticed a small yellow thread poking out above the dark field of carpet that surrounded it. Under normal circumstances, he might not have cared much about random colored carpet threads, but Friday wasn't an ordinary day.

The principal had been gone for more than twenty minutes, but Brian didn't know where he'd gone. If he'd spent a few seconds thinking about it, he might have come to the conclusion that Mr. Geller was either talking with one of the fire fighters about the explosion or meeting with Mr. Vernon to discuss suitable punishments for the boy who had caused it. In fact, he could have been thinking about any number of things, like the smell of charred paper coming from his burned-out locker or the panicked expression on Elliot's face when the gun went off. However, Brian hadn't thought about much of anything since he'd taken his seat, with the notable exception of one yellow-colored piece of string. Maybe it was because there was so much going on around him and his brain couldn't choose. Maybe it was because he found it easier to think about random carpet patterns than his mother's angry expression. Maybe. But more than likely, it was just because he was scared.

At 4:13, exactly ten minutes after Brian discovered that yellow thread in Principal Geller's dark blue carpet, the office door swung open.

"_You_…are in big trouble, young man."

_

* * *

4:04 P.M._

Claire called her father at his office as soon as she arrived home, but was informed by his secretary that he was in a meeting and couldn't be interrupted unless it was an emergency. While she felt that her situation was, in fact, an emergency, Claire knew that she couldn't do that to him. Instead, she left a message with the secretary asking her father to call her at home when the meeting was over.

It was a few minutes after four o'clock by the time he got back to her. "Sweetheart? Is everything alright?"

Claire sighed into the phone. "No."

"What's wrong, honey? Did the credit card go through? If they had a problem with you using it, I can give them a call and-"

"No, the credit card worked fine." Claire hesitated. "But I got a detention today."

Mr. Standish paused. "A detention? What for?"

Claire cringed. "I left school during sixth period to go shopping." Before her father could say anything, she hurried on. "But I only missed one class, and we weren't doing anything important, so I thought it would be okay. I just knew that I would get stuck in traffic if I tried to go to the mall tonight, and I wanted to be able to give you your credit card back in case you needed to use it." Claire stopped talking and took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn't see through her lies.

He didn't. "Well, honey, that's sweet of you, but you didn't need to worry about me. I don't need the card back right away."

"Well, I wasn't sure, so…" She cleared her throat. "But they gave me a detention, Daddy. I can't go."

"Why not?"

Claire's jaw dropped. "Detention is for people who do drugs and…get in fights and…" She paused, searching for the right words. "All I did was go shopping. I don't deserve a detention!"

Mr. Standish sighed. "I know you don't, sweetheart, but what can I do about it? They've already given it to you."

"You could call them."

"Call who?"

"Principal Geller…or Mr. Vernon. Just explain to them that I don't need to be there. I've learned my lesson."

Mr. Standish sighed. "Alright. I'll call them."

Claire smiled. "Thank you, Daddy."

"I'm not promising anything, but I'll try. We'll see what they say, alright?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. I'll see you later, sweetheart. Tell your mother I'll be a little bit late for dinner."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Okay, I will. Bye."

"Goodbye."

Claire hung up the phone and released a deep sigh. _This better work._

_

* * *

4:06 P.M._

On Friday afternoon, Allison took the bus home from school. Her parents were both working, and her sister Danielle went to a magnet school on the other side of town and didn't get home until nearly four o'clock. Allison absolutely hated taking the bus; all of the yelling and laughing and moving around made her feel a bit claustrophobic…sort of like being stuck inside of a crowded classroom, only worse.

When she got home, she went up to her room to listen to music for a little while. At about 4:00, she felt her stomach growl and decided that she wanted something to eat. She left the music turned on and went downstairs to the kitchen, where Jenny and Michelle were eating cookies at the table.

Michelle looked up as she swallowed a mouthful of cookie. "Hi."

Allison sat down and let her eyes flicker over the plate of cookies next to Jenny's elbow. Michelle must have noticed because she pushed the plate of cookies to the center of the table so that Allison could reach them. "Mom made them."

Allison didn't respond, just picked up one of the cookies and stuffed the entire thing into her mouth at once. A few crumbs fell from her lips as she chewed, but she hardly noticed. After finishing her first cookie, she took two more from the plate and polished them off in the same way. Michelle watched her eat, but didn't say anything until Allison had swallowed her last cookie.

"Why do you do that?"

Allison looked up at her younger sister, who was watching her curiously. Allison didn't say anything. She grabbed another cookie from the plate and pushed the entire thing into her mouth. Michelle kept watching her for a moment, then looked away and took another sip of her milk.

Suddenly, the front door opened and slammed shut again. Allison heard fast, angry footsteps on the stairs, then the sound of another door slamming somewhere. Michelle put down her cookie and looked over at Allison. "What's wrong with her?"

Allison just stared at her younger sister for a moment, then stood up from her chair, walked out of the kitchen and went upstairs. Her music had been turned off, and Allison could hear someone rummaging around in the room she shared with Danielle.

"…happened right after school."

Allison stopped when she was a couple of feet away from the doorway and peered around the corner. Danielle had the phone pressed up against her ear, and was walking around the room, dragging the cradle with her. "No, he waited until I'd dropped him off."

Allison almost opened her mouth to announce her presence, but stopped when Danielle said, "Of course he waited! What was he going to do, break up with me and _then_ ask for a ride?"

Allison froze, her fingers tightening around the door jam.

Danielle sighed, picked one of Allison's shirts up off of the floor and threw it onto Allison's bed. "Why do you think he did it? He's horny, and I won't sleep with him, so he's gonna find someone who will." Danielle paused, listening to her friend's response. "Not in so many words, no, but he might as well have. He said he needed to focus more on his grades." She scoffed. "Yeah, right," she said bitterly.

Allison swallowed deeply, but didn't move. Even though the rest of her family loved him, she'd always hated Jason. He extremely smart, but he was also an arrogant jackass. The only things he ever talked about when he came over for dinner were his SAT scores and the various scholarships he'd been offered by top-notch universities. Allison had always hoped that the two of them would break up, if only so that she wouldn't have to hear him drone on and on about the perks of being a National Merit Finalist, but she'd also hoped that Danielle would be the one to do it.

"It's okay. I'm sure he'll find someone slut who will sleep with him. Someone that isn't a prude like me." Danielle threw another skirt onto Allison's bed. "Maybe it'll be Kate McManus. She'll fuck any guy with a pulse."

Allison's mind was racing, but she remained silent. She watched Danielle gather a large pile of clothing from the floor and hurl it onto Allison's bed.

"No, I'm not upset about it," said Danielle. She paused, listening. "Really, I'm not. He's an asshole. I get it now, alright? I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of crying over him like some stupid, love-sick bimbo." With that, she threw one of Allison's socks across the room and collapsed onto her own bed. After a moment, she sighed. "Yes, I promise I'm okay." She paused, then shut her eyes. "Okay, but I won't need to. I'll be fine on my own…okay, bye." Then Danielle hung up the phone and burst into tears.

Allison had never been so surprised in her whole life. Danielle wasn't a crier. No one in her family was, for that matter, but Allison had never seen Danielle cry in her entire life, even when she'd fallen out of the tree in their front yard and broken her arm in two places. To see her break down over some jerk like Jason? Before she realized what she was doing, Allison stepped into the room. "Are you okay?"

Danielle looked up, her cheeks stained with tears. "What are you doing in here?"

Allison paused uncertainly. "I…"

"How long have you been standing there?" Danielle's eyes narrowed. "Were you _eavesdropping_?"

Allison hesitated, and Danielle stood from the bed and took a step towards her younger sister. "Get out! Just get out!"

Allison didn't know what to say, so she did as she was told and stepped out into the hall. Danielle didn't even look at her, just slammed the door shut, leaving Allison alone in the hallway and locked out of her own room.

_

* * *

4:10 P.M._

As soon as Mr. Geller left the Vice Principal's office to speak with Brian Johnson's mother, Richard Vernon yanked open his bottom desk drawer, reached past the pencils and the paper clips, and pulled a package of cigarettes out from the very back of the drawer.

No one knew that Vernon smoked, not even his wife. He'd been doing it since college, but he hadn't ever told anyone about it, partially because he didn't do it very often and partially because he didn't want to hear about the various forms of cancer that he was probably going to die from if he didn't quit. What those people didn't know is that he probably would have died of a heart attack a long time ago if he hadn't had something to calm him down on days when all the forces of the universe seemed to be working against him. Days like Friday, March 23, 1984.

Vernon struck a match against the side of his desk and lit the cigarette. The first time he'd ever smoked in his office, he'd accidentally set the fire alarm off and had been forced to explain to half a dozen office workers and three very curious students why he'd felt it necessary to burn his old memos when most people just throw them in the garbage can. The next day, he'd locked his office door, stood on top of his desk, and spent the next thirty minutes trying to figure out how to dismantle a fire alarm.

Seven years later, the fire department _still_ hadn't noticed.

When Vernon was finished with his cigarette, he didn't put it out right away. Instead, he pulled the plastic trash bag out of his trash barrel and placed it on the floor a couple feet away. Then he took one final drag from the cigarette, picked up a piece of paper from the corner of his desk, and held it over the empty metal can. He pushed the lit end of the cigarette against the names that he'd written one at a time only hours before. It took a couple of minutes for the paper to finally catch fire, but when it did, he let go of the corner and watched it fall into the metal can, where he let it burn until there was nothing left of it but a smoldering pile of ashes.

_Smug little pricks._

* * *

A/N: Thank you for all of the feedback. I really appreciate it. Also, we'll catch up with Bender in the next chapter. 


	13. Parental Compassion

Warning: Angsty chapter, so please prepare yourself accordingly. Includes verbal abuse.

A/N: _Starsky and Hutch_, _The Rockford Files _and _CHiPs_ were cop shows that aired in the 1970s. At this point in 1984, they would be airing as re-runs (obviously).

**

* * *

**

Chapter Thirteen: Parental Compassion

* * *

_4:54 P.M._

Ralph Johnson left work early on Friday afternoon and arrived home a few minutes before 5:00 to find his wife and teenage son sitting together in the living room, completely silent and refusing to look at one another. He put his briefcase on the table in the foyer and took a seat next to his wife on the couch.

"Where's Jamie?"

"In her room."

Mr. Johnson nodded and looked over at his son, who hadn't said a word in nearly thirty minutes. "Well…"

Apparently Mrs. Johnson had been doing enough thinking for the both of them and was tired of the silence. "A gun. You brought a gun to school. What did you think, that it would be-"

"Beverley, can you stop, please? I just got here, alright?" Mr. Johnson put a hand on his wife's knee, and she pulled away sharply. He flinched, but didn't say anything to her, just sighed and turned back to his son. "Why did you take my gun?"

Brian had tried to come up with some kind of believable excuse while they were waiting for his father to come home, but had come up dry. "I don't know."

"You don't _know_?" Mrs. Johnson's eyes became wide with shock. "You took a gun to school, but you don't even know _why_?"

Brian paused. "I guess I just…I guess I just thought it was cool," he said lamely.

"You thought it was _cool_? Why on earth would you-"

"Beverley…"

Mrs. Johnson closed her mouth and looked down at the carpet, her jaw working silently in anger. Mr. Johnson looked away from his wife and back at his son. "I don't understand why you would do that, even if…" He ran a hand over his thick head of hair. "Did you want to show someone? Is that it? I just don't…"

Brian nodded. "Yeah."

His father let out a deep breath. "So you wanted to show your friends?"

Brian nodded numbly.

"You know that you can't just do that whenever you…I know that it's tempting to do things that you wouldn't…that you wouldn't normally do to get people to…" Mr. Johnson swept a hand over his hair again, a sign that Brian recognized as one of nervousness. "Popularity isn't everything," he finished.

Brian looked up. "Popularity," he echoed.

Mr. Johnson nodded solemnly. "I know it's hard when you…" He cleared his throat and looked over at his wife, who was still staring at the floor, refusing to look up. "You'll realize someday that it doesn't matter what other people think of you. It doesn't matter how cool you are or how many friends you have. Those things don't matter, Brian."

Brian could do nothing but stare back in disbelief.

"I felt that way when I was your age. I did things to get people to like me. I never brought a…but that doesn't…" His father cleared his throat. "Anyway, I realized when I got older that I just have to be myself and not worry about those other people, you know?" He paused for a moment, watching his son expectantly. "Do you understand what I mean?"

Brian forced his mouth open. "Yes," he said quietly.

"Good." His father let out a deep breath and looked back at his wife again. Tentatively, he put a hand on her leg, and she didn't pull away this time. "Bev…"

Mrs. Johnson looked up. "I need to start dinner." Before her husband could say anything, she stood up and walked into the kitchen.

Mr. Johnson watched her leave, then turned back to his son. "Well, I don't…I guess you've probably learned your lesson this time, so we won't need to, you know, to ground you or anything." He ran a hand through his hair and managed a nervous smile. "Just, uh, remember what I said, okay, son?"

Brian clenched his jaw. "Can I go now?"

Mr. Johnson nodded. "Sure."

Brian stood up and walked down the hall to his room.

_

* * *

5:35 P.M._

When Andy got home from school, the first thing he did was fix himself a ham and cheese sandwich. He finished it in about two minutes, then made himself another one and took it into the living room so that he could watch television. He was a big fan of cop shows, mostly because he'd always wanted to do something like that when he got older, and he loved watching old re-runs of shows like _Hill Street Blues_ and _Magnum, P.I._ On Friday afternoon, he found an old episode of _Starsky and Hutch_ on one of the basic cable channels and made himself comfortable on the couch.

When _Starsky and Hutch _was over, _CHiPs_, one of Andy's other favorites, came on. He loved the show partially because it was funny and partially because he was a fan of Randi Oakes, who played Officer Bonnie Clark. In fact, he kept a full-sized poster of her in his closet, which made getting dressed in the morning much more pleasant.

About halfway through _CHiPs_, the front door opened, and Maggie Clark walked in. Their eyes met momentarily before Mrs. Clark looked away, hung her purse and coat on the coat rack next to the door, and started walking towards the kitchen.

Andy sighed. "Mom-"

Mrs. Clark stopped and put a hand up in the air to silence him. "Don't even start." Then she disappeared into the kitchen.

Against his better judgment, Andy stood from the couch and followed her. When he got into the kitchen, he found her standing in front of the refrigerator pulling out a casserole dish with leftovers from the night before.

"Mom."

Mrs. Clark ignored him and carried the dish across the room, setting it on top of the stove and adjusting the temperature settings.

"Mom, I can explain."

She peeled the foil off the top of the casserole and placed it on the counter next to the sink, then opened the oven door and stuck the dish inside.

Andy sighed. "It wasn't that big of a deal."

Mrs. Clark whirled around, eyes blazing. "Not that big of a deal? Is that what you think? That beating someone up just because you can is 'not that big of a deal'?

Andy clenched his jaw, but didn't speak.

Mrs. Clark reached up and removed one of her clip-on earrings, slamming it down on the counter. "You wanted to talk, so talk. Tell me what happened today."

Andy swallowed. "I just…"

Maggie Clark slammed the other earring onto the counter. "Go ahead. I'm waiting."

Andy clenched his jaw. "I beat someone up."

"Yes, I heard about that. What did you do?"

Andy paused. "They didn't tell you?"

Mrs. Clark's eyes narrowed. "I want to hear it from you."

Andy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I taped his butt cheeks together."

His mother nodded. "And?"

"And then I beat him up."

Mrs. Clark shook her head. "I did _not _teach you to act like that, Andrew Clark. Do you hear me? I did _not _teach you that."

Andy nodded obediently.

Mrs. Clark took a deep breath and rubbed her ear. "So, who was it?"

Andy hesitated. "I don't know," he said finally.

Mrs. Clark stared at him for a long moment. "You don't know?"

Andy shook his head, unable to speak.

Mrs. Clark's chin started to quiver, and tears formed in her eyes. "That poor boy and you don't even-" Her voice broke, and the tears spilled over, and she turned away from him, wiping her eyes.

It was a long time before she spoke again. Andy stood there uncomfortably, shifting his weight back and forth and staring at his shoes. Finally, she turned around and looked him in the eye. "Go on."

Andy swallowed. "I was angry."

"At who?"

_At Dad. _The words came so suddenly that Andy had to bite his tongue to keep from saying them out loud. The warm taste of copper filled his mouth, and he swallowed it down. "Joel," he lied.

"You were mad at Joel so you decided to take it out on someone you don't even know?" Mrs. Clark shook her head. "I don't understand, Andy."

"I don't either," he answered truthfully.

His mother just stared at him for a long moment, her eyes swimming with equal parts fury and unshed tears. Andy watched her nervously, waiting for the next big outburst, but it never came. After a moment, she stepped forward and threw her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down to her level.

"Don't you ever do that again. Do you hear me? You're better than that…" she whispered into his ear.

Andy closed his eyes. "I won't."

After a moment, she released him and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Go pick up your plate in the living room. I don't want it sitting out there."

Andy paused, waiting for her to say something about punishment. "I will."

She picked her earrings up from the kitchen counter and started walking into the living room. "Dinner will be ready in a little while."

Andy nodded. "Okay." He watched her walk through the living room and down the hallway leading towards the bedroom she shared with his father. When she was out of sight, Andy let out a deep breath and went back into the living room to clean up his mess.

_

* * *

6:00 P.M._

Bender caught a ride home from Zeke, who had his mom's car for the day since she didn't need it for work. When they got to his house, Bender saw that the driveway was empty, which meant that his parents were still at work, as he knew they would be. He went inside and fixed himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, then turned on the television and took a seat on the couch. His parents weren't home and probably wouldn't be for a couple of hours, so he knew he wouldn't be bothered for a while. Besides, he loved television, but didn't have many opportunities to watch it since he didn't have a set in his own room.

He turned it on in time to catch the last half of _Starsky and Hutch_. Next up was _CHiPs_, which wasn't nearly as cool or violent as the former, but have a really good-looking lady cop in almost every episode. He'd always had a bit of a thing for blondes, and the fact that her uniform did a nice job of showing off her cleavage didn't hurt her cause either.

At 6:00, _CHiPs_ ended, and some black and white show from the 50's came on. Bender didn't really like shows like that, but the set was too far away and he was too lazy to get up and change the channel.

On the screen, an older man walked up to his teenaged son and clapped him on the back. "Hey, Junior. What would you think about maybe going fishing this weekend? We can go down to the old camp site and catch a few trout. What do you say?"

The boy sighed. "I can't, Dad. The big game's next week, and I really have to practice."

The older man smiled indulgently. "Don't worry, son. We can practice when we get there."

The boy grinned. "Really? That's great!"

Suddenly, a red-haired woman came onto the screen and gave her son a peck on the cheek. "Dinner's ready, you two. Hurry up or it's going to get cold!"

Bender snorted and forced himself up off the couch to turn the channel. He settled on a re-run of _The Rockford Files_, and sat back down on the couch.

At about 6:30, the front door opened, and Ron Bender walked in carrying a small toolbox in one hand and a soda can in the other. When he caught sight of his teenage son sprawled out on the sofa, he narrowed his eyes. "Hard at work?"

Bender ignored him and kept his eyes trained on the screen in front of him.

"Cat got your tongue?" Bender's father passed in front of the screen and set his toolbox on the kitchen table. He stared at Bender, waiting for an answer, but Bender didn't give him one. After a few seconds, Helen Bender appeared in the doorway carrying two overloaded grocery bags in her arms. She passed in front of the television and placed the bags on the kitchen counter, immediately pulling out a box of frozen turkey pot pie for dinner.

Mr. Bender, who had been rummaging around in his toolbox, closed the lid and walked back into the kitchen. "Get me a Coke, Hel."

Mrs. Bender frowned. "They aren't cold yet."

"So get me a cup with some goddamn ice in it!"

Helen Bender pursed her lips shut and did as she was told. Her husband accepted the glass from her hand and, without saying thank you, walked back into the living room. He glanced at the television screen, then took a long, hard look at his son. "You having fun?"

Bender didn't answer.

"Cause I wouldn't want to disturb you or anything, seeing as how you work so hard all day at school. If you even went."

Bender looked up. "I did go."

"Oh, yeah? What's that, the second time all year? Or is it the third?"

Bender's nostrils flared, but he didn't respond.

Ron Bender took a sip of his soda, then looked back at his son. "What is it that you do all day, anyway? Watch television? Play guitar? Doesn't your ass get tired from you sittin' on it all the goddamn time?"

Bender looked up. "I don't know. Does your dick get tired from you strokin' it all the time?"

Ron Bender's lip curled in disgust. "You've always been quick, haven't you, Johnny?"

"Yeah, must've gotten it from you."

Mr. Bender let out a low, mirthless chuckle and glanced back at his wife, who was pretending not to listen. "You sure as hell didn't get it from your mother," he said.

John didn't respond, just turned back to the screen.

Mr. Bender's face contorted with anger. "Didn't anybody ever tell that it's rude to ignore someone when they're talkin' to you?" he asked.

John looked up. "Guess not."

"Well, it is!" Mr. Bender waved around his glass, spilling a couple of drops of soda onto the stained brown carpet. When John didn't respond, the elder Bender sneered. "What? No smart comebacks for your old man?"

"Guess you're just too quick for me, Dad," said Bender lazily, looking past him at the screen again. His father strode over to the television and hit the power button, causing the screen to go blank. Then he turned back to his son, eyes blazing with anger.

"Shut your big mouth, you _fuck_ing know-it-all!" Mr. Bender shook his head angrily. "You sit here on this couch all day like the lazy son of a bitch you are while I'm at work, and then you smart off to me when I get home! Is this the thanks I get for putting food on the table and not kicking you out of my home? You ungrateful little shit!"

Mrs. Bender, who had been watching them from her place in the kitchen, spoke up. "And lazy! He didn't go to school yesterday. I heard him listening to music while-"

"Shut up!" Ron Bender turned to his wife and jabbed his index finger in her direction. "Don't interrupt me while I'm talking!"

Mrs. Bender hesitated, then closed her mouth and went back to the turkey pot pie.

Mr. Bender turned back to his son. "You know what I think? I think you need to start payin' me to live here. You're almost 18 now, aren't you? I think it's about time."

Bender glanced over at his mother, who had opened her mouth to correct her husband. When she saw John watching her, she closed it again and looked back at the food in front of her.

Even if she didn't say anything, Bender still thought it was nice to know that at least his mother knew his real age.

"So, instead of sittin' on your ass all day tomorrow, why don't you see about getting a job, huh? Pay me back for takin' care of you for all these years."

John scoffed. "Yeah, right."

Mr. Bender paused. "What's that?"

John stood from the sofa. "I said fuck you."

"Oh, did you? Mr. Tough Guy here said 'fuck you' to his old man. Wanna back that up with your fists, or are you too scared?"

Bender wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I'm not gonna fight you."

"No really. I'll even give you the first punch. I just want to see what you've got…wanna see if you've got any business runnin' your mouth like you do."

"What, you wanna see if I'm like you? 'Cause I'm not."

"Goddamn right you're not. You're a worthless, freeloading asshole that doesn't know the difference between his dick and his elbow." Ron Bender took a few steps towards his son, and John flinched, anticipating the blow. But instead of hitting him, the older man took a seat on the couch where Bender had been sitting only moments before and looked up at the television screen. "Find a job or get the fuck out of my house."

Bender didn't answer, just grabbed his coat from the floor and walked out the door.

* * *

A/N: I have three (or possibly four) chapters left for this story, and I hope to have them all written and posted by the end of the month, if not sooner. Please leave me some feedback if you have the time. Thanks. 


	14. Unspoken

A/N: Please leave me some feedback if you get a chance. Thank you.

**

* * *

**

Chapter Fourteen: Unspoken

* * *

_6:12 P.M._

Vernon arrived home to the smell of vanilla cake and burned chicken cacciatore. He let out a deep breath and walked into the kitchen, where his wife was standing at the stove with her back turned away from him.

Vernon put the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter, but kept the bundle of flowers in his hand. At the sound of his footsteps, Molly Vernon turned around. "Oh, hi, sweetie!" She walked up to him and planted a messy kiss on the corner of his mouth. "How was work?"

Vernon forced himself not to wipe away the smear of bright pink lipstick that he knew was there. "It was fine," he said evenly. "I stopped at the store like you asked."

"Oh, thank you." She looked down at the flowers in his hand. "Are these for me?"

Vernon paused. "Well, they're for Virginia." When she didn't respond, he sighed. "You wanted to give her something to cheer her up," he reminded her.

"Oh, right. Of course." Molly plucked the bouquet out of her husband's hands and set them on the counter. "I'll take them over right after dinner."

"That's fine." Vernon sniffed the air. "Did you, uh…did you burn something, honey?"

Molly looked up, and Vernon could see a glob of cake batter clinging to one of her glossy brown curls. "Oh, just a little bit. I got so busy making this cake for Tom and Barbara that I completely forgot about the casserole."

Vernon walked over to the stove, where his wife's chicken cacciatore--or rather, the _remains_ of his wife's chicken cacciatore--were smoldering in their glass dish. "Was that dinner?" he asked needlessly.

"Yes."

Vernon nodded. "Right."

Molly looked up from her cake. "Did you get me the vanilla icing?"

Vernon sighed. "Yes, dear. It's on the table."

"Oh, good. I wanted to take this over there tonight." She rummaged through the sack on the table and pulled out a gallon of milk. "You got milk!" she exclaimed. "We're out, you know."

"So I heard."

Molly pulled out the icing and opened it up, then went over to the utensil drawer and took out a spatula. Vernon watched her scoop out a big glob of icing and smear it on top of the cake. He cleared his throat. "Uh, Molly?"

"Mmm hmm?"

"What are we going to do about dinner?"

Molly looked up. "Oh, are you hungry?"

Vernon managed a tight smile. "Just a bit."

Molly left the spatula sitting on top of the cake and grabbed a large spoon from a plastic container on the counter, then walked over to the casserole dish sitting on the stove. "Can you get us some plates, sweetie?"

Vernon didn't move. "Plates," he echoed.

"Yes." She looked up and smiled sweetly. "For the casserole, silly," she said teasingly.

Vernon nodded. "Oh, yes," he said, reaching up to pull two plates from the cabinet above his head. "Silly me."

_

* * *

6:14 P.M._

Dinner at the Reynolds' house was never a silent affair. Between the twins' academic progress and Danielle's upcoming graduation and her parents' busy jobs, there was always something worth talking about. Allison hardly ever joined in unless someone asked her a question, which they rarely did.

On Friday night, her mother was excited about the sale of an expensive house that had been on the market for over three months with no offers. Her company had shown the house to dozens of prospective buyers, but no one had taken the bait until that afternoon.

"Apparently, they're from Norway. He works for an oil company, and he got transferred here just a few weeks ago."

Jenny held up her fork. "I know some words in Norwegian."

Allison rolled her eyes and went back to her mashed potatoes, which she'd mixed with her corn and chicken.

"Jason and I broke up today."

Allison, along with every other member of her family, looked up at Danielle.

"What happened?" asked her mother.

"I broke up with him," said Danielle, flipping a lock of dark brown hair over one shoulder.

"Why did you do that?"

Danielle shrugged. "I think I need to focus on school more. If I'm going to finish on top, I can't have anything getting in the way." When she finished speaking, she looked up at Allison, who was watching her silently. Danielle set her mouth in a hard line, daring her to say something, and Allison looked away.

"Well, I hate to see that happen," said Mrs. Reynolds. "He was such a nice boy."

Danielle clenched her jaw. "Yeah."

"But I'm glad that you're focusing on your grades. This is the last big push, you know."

Danielle nodded. "Yeah, I know."

Mrs. Reynolds kept talking about the importance of good grades when applying to colleges, but Allison tuned her out. It was the same speech nearly every time, and she practically had it memorized by then, even if it wasn't ever directed towards her. Her parents had pretty much given up on their second oldest daughter ever achieving anything in the way of academic success. When she was in middle school, they'd started sending her to a therapist to address her motivational issues and get her tested for dyslexia and ADHD. Both tests had come up negative, but her parents kept pushing, certain that if they found out what was wrong then she would start living up to the family name. They didn't and she didn't. Eventually, after nearly two years with no signs of improvement, the Reynolds pulled the plug on her daughter's "treatment". They also stopped talking to her about school, stopped asking if she'd done her homework or whether she'd done well on her last test. She knew that they assumed the worst and didn't correct them. It just seemed easier that way, for everyone involved.

"So, you're okay with everything, honey?"

Allison looked up to see her mother watching Danielle intently. "With Jason, I mean? I know it's hard to lose someone you care about, even if it was your decision."

Allison looked over at Danielle, but the older girl didn't even flinch. "I'm fine."

Mrs. Reynolds smiled. "Good." She stood up from the table and pushed her chair in behind her. "Anyone want ice cream?"

All but two people started answering all at once. Allison glanced across the table at her sister, but Danielle wasn't paying attention to anyone. She was staring at her plate with an unreadable expression on her face and pushing corn around with her fork. After a moment, she looked straight up at Allison. Allison waited for Danielle to narrow her eyes or sneer at her, but the angry look never came. After a few seconds, Danielle looked away and asked their mother for a scoop of ice cream.

_

* * *

6:20 P.M._

Claire spent her afternoon in her room reorganizing her closet and tossing out old clothes that she didn't wear anymore. She knew that she needed to be studying for her Calculus test on Monday, especially since she didn't have a chance to turn in her homework that day after leaving her books in her English class during the fire drill. She was already struggling in the class as it was, mainly because she just didn't care, and the steady B she'd been maintaining all semester was going to drop down to a C if she didn't ace that next test.

But the shopping bags were calling her name. She pulled the sweaters out one by one, laying them out on the bed to admire them, then hanging them up in her closet with the price tags facing out. She saved the leather jacket for last, but didn't put it on the bed like she had the others. Instead, she put it on and wore it around her room for a while, straightening the photo frames on her dresser and reorganizing the shoe tree on the floor of her closet.

Her mother arrived home at around 5:30, but Claire didn't go downstairs right away. She knew that her mother was going to find out about the detention at any moment, if she hadn't already, and Claire was more than willing to avoid that conflict for as long as she possibly could. Besides, if she waited long enough, her father would come home and announce that he'd spoken with Principal Geller, who decided that it really wasn't necessary for Claire to be at school so early the next morning after all.

By 6:20, the smell of the lasagna baking in the oven downstairs was strong enough to find its way up to Claire's room on the second floor. She waited impatiently for the sound of her father's car pulling into the driveway, but it never came. Finally, she remembered her father's parting words from earlier that afternoon when she'd called him at his office. "_Tell your mother I'll be a little bit late for dinner."_

Claire sighed and started down the stairs. She couldn't put it off forever, and she definitely couldn't resist her mother's lasagna. She walked into the living room to find her mother sprinkling fresh parmesan cheese on the lasagna. When Claire entered the room, Evelyn Standish looked up. "I didn't realize you were home."

"I was in my room."

Mrs. Standish nodded and put the bowl of cheese on the counter. Claire waited for her to say something about the detention, but she didn't. "How was work?" Claire asked finally.

"Good. We're already getting some girls shopping for prom. I guess it's never too soon for that."

Claire nodded. Her mother owned a small clothing boutique specializing in one-of-a-kind dresses and formal wear. She had a huge staff that designed a lot of the clothing she sold in the store, but a some of the pieces were designed by Evelyn Standish herself. The boutique was enormously popular with older women, but Mrs. Standish also catered to the younger set and carried formal dresses all throughout the year. While neither of her parents had ever said anything about it, Claire was pretty sure that her mother's business brought in more money than her father's paycheck.

Mrs. Standish looked down at her watch. "I wonder where your father is. I'm starving."  
Claire took a deep breath. "He said he'd be late."

Mrs. Standish looked up. "He did?"

Claire nodded. "I talked to him earlier."

Mrs. Standish nodded slowly. "I see."

Claire shifted her jaw uncomfortably. "I guess he had to work late."

"I guess so," said her mother breezily. She pulled a spatula from a container on the counter and started cutting into the lasagna.

Claire watched her mother for a moment, unsure of what she was supposed to say. After a few moments of silence, Mrs. Standish looked up. "So, how was school?"

Claire swallowed nervously. "Fine."

"That's good," said Mrs. Standish. Her tone was neutral, but Claire could tell that she was biting back the anger…which meant that she knew about the detention.

"I got a detention," she said.

Mrs. Standish nodded. "I know. Must have been one hell of a sale if you couldn't wait until school was over."

Claire sighed. "We weren't even doing anything today. I didn't miss anything imp-"

Her mother held up a hand to stop her. "Save it for someone who will believe it…like your father."

Claire felt the anger building. "He already knows."

Mrs. Standish paused, considering this. "That wouldn't have anything to do with why you called him this afternoon, would it?"

Claire just glared at her.

"Is he going to try to get them to drop the detention?"

Claire didn't answer.

Mrs. Standish nodded. "That's typical."

Claire scoffed. "What, Dad trying to help me out? Why is that such a bad thing?"

"Because in the long run he isn't doing you any favors."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Mrs. Standish put down the spatula and looked up at her daughter. "Sooner or later, you're going to find yourself in a situation that you can't get out of, and your father isn't going to be there to help you."

Claire didn't know what to say. "At least he tries."

Her mother's eyes flickered at the implication, but she didn't flinch. "Trying," she said hollowly, looking back down at the spatula. "Yes, he certainly does try, doesn't he?"

Claire didn't answer. After a moment, her mother looked up, her face unreadable. "One week."

"Excuse me?"

"One week," her mother said firmly. "No parties, no trips to the mall. You go to school, but that's it. You are not to leave this-"

"I'm _grounded_?" Claire asked incredulously. "That's not fair! I may not even have detention if Dad can-"

"I don't _care_ whether your father gets them to drop the detention," said Mrs. Standish, her voice as hard as the granite countertop under her fingers. "You skipped school. That's unacceptable."

Claire let out a sharp, angry chuckle. "You're just mad at Dad for being late for dinner, and you're letting it out on me."

Her mother's face hardened. "Watch it," she warned.

Claire ignored her. "It's not fair. Just because Dad's screwing some other woman doesn't give you the right to ground me!"

When Claire stopped talking, the kitchen fell completely silent. Her mother's eyes never left hers, but the anger reflected in them faded into something like sadness. Claire felt the guilt rising in her chest, but she maintained eye contact, refusing to look away.

Finally, Mrs. Standish cleared her throat. "You're right."

Claire just stared at her.

"Life isn't fair," Mrs. Standish said very quietly.

Claire turned and walked out of the room.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading. 


	15. In Over My Head

A/N: Two chapters in two days! I'm on a roll. Anyway, it might be helpful for this chapter to remember who Bender's friends are. Davis is the guy that ate Bender's brownie and made the sexual innuendos about Janie (the girl that Bender woke up next to in chapter one). Billy is the skateboarder, Damien is the one who asked Claire for a mint, and Zeke is the guy that was worried Billy would hurt himself by skateboarding down the ramp.

**

* * *

**

Chapter Fifteen: In Over My Head

* * *

_6:42 P.M._

After he left his house, Bender walked straight over to Zeke's house, which was only a five minute walk from his own. Zeke's father died when Zeke was a baby, and his mother remarried just before Zeke started high school. Both his mother and his step father worked full time, which meant that Zeke spent most evenings taking care of his baby siblings until his step father returned home from work.

When he opened the door on Friday evening, Zeke looked surprised to see Bender standing there. "Hey, I thought you weren't coming over 'til later."

Bender shrugged. "Got bored. Can I come in?"

Zeke nodded and held open the door for him. "Yeah, sure. Joshua's sick, and Gene isn't home, so we can't go to Harrison's yet, but…"

"It's fine." Bender walked into the living room, and Zeke closed the front door. The television was turned on to _The Rockford Files_, the same show that Bender had been watching when his parents got home, but the episode was almost over by that point. At least he'd get to find out who the bad guy was.

"Do you want a Coke or something?"

Bender looked up from the screen. "Yeah, okay."

Zeke went into the kitchen to get the drinks, and Bender sat down on the armchair in front of the television. To his right, Zeke's baby sister Anna was clinging to the side of her playpen, her tiny fingers wrapped around the plastic-covered edge as though her life depended on it. Bender nodded politely in her direction and looked back at the television.

A couple of minutes later, Zeke returned to the living room, and the two of them finished out the episode in silence. As he drank his soda, Bender flexed his fingers idly, hungry for a cigarette. Zeke was very adamant that smoking was not allowed in the house, and he never let his friends light up, even if the kids were in bed asleep. Bender didn't know what the big deal was. His parents smoked all the time when he was a baby, and he'd turned out okay.

When the program ended, Zeke looked over at him. "You hopin' Janie'll be there tonight?"

Bender shrugged.

Zeke nodded. "Do you, um…you know her friend Christina?"

Bender looked over at him. "I think so. Blonde, right? Quiet?"

Zeke nodded. "Yeah, that's her." He cleared his throat. "Think she'll be there tonight?"

Bender cocked an eyebrow. "Probably. Why?"

Zeke shrugged. "I don't know. I was just wondering. She's…"

"Hot?" Bender offered.

Zeke nodded sheepishly. "Yeah." He paused. "You think she'd go out with me…you know, if I asked her?"

Bender shrugged. "Maybe." He took another sip of his Coke and looked Zeke up in down. "If you change that shirt, your chances will double."

Zeke looked down at his t-shirt, a faded black number with a big white skull on the front. "You think?"

"Yeah, I think."

Zeke sighed. "Probably."

"Seek?"

Bender and Zeke looked up to see Zeke's brother Joshua, hardly two years old, standing in the doorway awkwardly. "I did mess," he said, embarrassed.

"Oh, shit. Okay." Zeke jumped up from the couch. "I'll be right back," he called over his shoulder.

Bender nodded and looked back at the television screen. His fingers were still dancing nervously, desperate for something to hold onto. After a few moments, he snuck a peek down the hall and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. Just as he started to light up, Bender heard a little babbling sound coming from somewhere nearby. He looked up to see Anna watching him, her mouth opening and closing like a dying goldfish.

"What are you lookin' at?"

Open. Close.

"Don't look at me like that. I'm not bothering you."

Anna let go of the bar and reached towards him, her slimy, stubby fingers grasping at the air.

"Now, that's where I draw the line. Maybe when you're older, but not before you've started teething."

She let out a little shriek.

Bender cocked an eyebrow. "Temper, temper. Are you one of those chicks that thinks that if she can't have any, then the rest of us can't either?"

She made a little gurgling sound.

Bender shook his head. "Well, too bad. I haven't had a cigarette since lunch, and I'm not going to let a woman tell me what to do. No, ma'am."

Anna stretched her mouth open, and a thin line of droll started running down her chin.

Bender pointed a finger in her direction. "Don't push me," he warned.

The girl's eyes widened, and she tilted her head back. She stood absolutely still for a long time, her eyes never leaving his face. Finally, Bender sighed.

"Typical woman," he said, pushing the cigarette back into the pack. "Can't let me have one minute to myself, can you? Have to find _something_ to bitch about."

Anna's mouth opened again, and this time she smiled, scrunching up her face so that her tiny little eyes were hardly visible behind the folds of baby skin. Bender sneered at her, and she let out a high-pitched giggle, clearly enjoying her power over him.

A few seconds later, Zeke came back into the room smelling faintly of vomit and baby wipes. He collapsed onto the sofa, and Bender cocked an eyebrow. "New cologne?"

Zeke glared at him. "Shut up." Then he paused and lifted his shirt up to his nose to smell it. "Oh."

Bender smirked. "Maybe she'll like it."

Zeke looked over at him. "Who, Christina?" He sighed. "I'm gonna go change."

"I think that's a good idea."

Zeke pulled himself up off of the couch and disappeared down the hallway again, muttering to himself under his breath. Bender glanced back at Anna, who was still watching him as she slobbered all over her hand, and sighed.

"Women."

_

* * *

6:45 P.M._

Dinner at the Johnson household was quieter than usual on Friday night, which was really saying something considering it was never very animated to begin with. Brian's seven-year-old sister Jamie spent the entire meal reciting the alphabet over and over and over until their mother finally told her to stop talking and finish her carrots. Mr. Johnson tried to make conversation with his wife and children, but Jamie was the only person that responded. Brian and his mother remained quiet during the entire meal, only speaking when necessary.

After dinner, Jamie went into the living room to read, and Brian went back to his bedroom. He pulled his Latin textbook out of his backpack and opened it up to the vocabulary section that he was supposed to memorize for his test on Monday. He stared at the page for a long time before he realized that he wasn't even reading, much less _comprehending_, anything on the page. He closed the book and laid his head down on the cover, closing his eyes.

A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Brian sat up straight and wiped his eyes. "Come in."

The door opened very slowly, and Jamie walked in. "What are you doing?" she asked, coming up beside him.

"Studying." Brian sighed. "What do you want?"

Jamie ignored the question. "Is Mommy mad at you?"

Brian hesitated. "Why?"

"Because..." Jamie squinted up at her older brother. "Did you do something _bad_?"

Brian clenched his jaw. "No."

"Are you _sure_?" she asked, drawing out the last word in a sing-song way.

"Yes," Brian said irritably.

"Because she _seemed_ mad. She seemed-"

"I didn't do _anything_!" Brian snapped. "Okay, Jamie? I didn't do anything wrong!"

Jamie paused, her teasing grin fading into a confused frown. "You don't have to yell at me," she said quietly.

Brian sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. I just want to be alone right now, okay?"

Jamie's lower lip started quivering and tears formed in her eyes. "You're so mean," she said angrily. Then she turned and ran out of the room.

"Jamie!" Brian called after her. He stood up and started to go after her, but stopped when he got to the doorway, suddenly very tired. Why did he have to deal with someone else's jumble of emotions right then? He was already having a hard enough time with his own.

Without looking into the hall to see if his sister was okay, Brian shut the door and locked it, but kept his hand on the doorknob, unsure of what to do next. After a moment, he closed his eyes and sagged against the door, taking deep breaths to stave off the tidal wave of emotions that threatened to knock him over from the inside out.

_

* * *

8:13 P.M._

After dinner, Allison spent some time alone in her bedroom listening to music. Danielle was doing homework in the study, so she had the room all to herself for once. She stayed in there alone until about 8:15, when she decided that she was thirsty. She turned off the music and went downstairs to the kitchen, where her mother and the twins were practicing Latin vocabulary at the circular table in the center of the room. Michelle glanced up when she walked in, but quickly looked back at her mother, who was reading phrases from a workbook. Allison turned away from the table and went to the refrigerator for some milk.

Not eager to interrupt the study session, Allison took her milk into the living room, where her younger brother Steven was sitting on his knees in the middle of the floor, hovering over a large building made of Legos. Allison came up beside him and sat on the couch.

Steven looked up at her, wrinkling his nose to push up his glasses. "Hi."

Allison swallowed a sip of milk. "Hi."

Steven returned to the project he was working on and Allison surveyed the area around him. In addition to the humongous collection of Legos, which Steven had spread out all over the floor, there was also a small stack of folders and books that had been pushed off to the side. Allison picked up the top folder, which had Steven's name written across the top in big, bold letters, and opened it up. Inside, she found a handful of worksheets that had been either half completed or hadn't even been started. She could see faint markings behind the answers that had been filled in, evidence of rejected answers that he had done a poor job of erasing.

Allison held up the folder. "What is this?"

Steven tore himself away from his Legos and looked back at his sister. When he saw the folder, his face darkened immediately. "My reading folder."

"Is this your homework?"

Steven nodded.

"Is it due tomorrow?"

He nodded again.

Allison paused. "When are you going to do it?"

Steven shrugged. "I don't know. Later, I guess."

"Why don't you do it now?"

Steven frowned. "Because I'm working."

Allison glanced over at the Lego building, then back at her brother. "You could ask Mom to help you."

Steven let out a deep breath, his nostrils flaring slightly. "She's helping Jenny and Michelle!" He grabbed a stray Lego from the floor next to his knee and clutched it tightly in his hand. "She told me to come in here and do it."

Allison felt a wave of anger rush through her body, but tried to control it. "Maybe Dad could help."

"He's working," Steven said, getting more and more upset as the conversation wore on. He pushed his glasses up with his index finger and turned away from her, facing his Legos once again. Allison didn't say anything else, just looked back at the handful of papers in her hand. She ran the pad of her thumb over the childish scrawl, tracing the big, awkward letters with her finger, as the sound of her sisters' voices trailed in from the kitchen. "_Inscitus…"_

Allison looked over at her brother, who was facing away from her, pushing another plastic block into place on top of the building. He was concentrating so hard on the building in front of him that he didn't seem to even notice that she was still sitting there. He reached out and adjusted one of the Legos making up the wall of the castle, then frowned and moved it again.

"_Stolidus…"_

Allison watched him for a few minutes before she reached forward and ran a finger along the edge of the outer wall, skimming the pads of her fingers across the bumpy, plastic surface. Steven didn't seem to notice. Very carefully, he leaned forward and placed a small red Lego to the roof of the castle, its purpose a mystery to everyone but himself. His brow, furrowed in concentration, relaxed a bit, and he smiled softly, pleased with his work.

"_Hebes…"_

Allison curled up in a ball at the edge of the sofa, where she had a clear view of her brother's creation. She watched him work for the better part of an hour, never speaking, until her eyelids grew heavy and she fell asleep.

_

* * *

8:51 P.M._

Zeke's stepfather arrived home from work a few minutes before nine o'clock and took over for Zeke, who had been on active throw-up duty in Joshua's room for the past two hours. Bender had done his part by staying in the living room with Anna watching re-runs of _Kojak_ on television.

When Gene was finally able to convince Zeke that he had a handle on the situation, the two boys left and started walking towards Harrison's, Shermer's only heavy metal club. It was hardly more than a big, smelly basement with a bar and a stage, but Bender loved it, mostly because it was the only place in the whole damn town that he always felt at home.

When they arrived at the club, Bender went to the bar to get them drinks, and Zeke wandered off to find Billy and Davis. As he waited, Bender leaned against the wooden bar and watched the band, a local group from Chicago that was big into Metallica. Halfway into a cover of "Hit the Lights", the bartender brought over his beers, and Bender ventured into the crowd in search of his friends.

He found the three of them sitting at a small table next to the wall in the corner of the room. Davis was completely absorbed in a cup full of peanuts that he'd most likely stolen from the bar, Billy was tying his shoelaces, and Zeke was staring out over the dance floor, his eyes glazed over with longing.

Bender took a seat on the stool next to Zeke and plopped one of the beers down in front of his friend. Startled, Zeke looked up. "Oh, hey, thanks," he said loudly, his words hardly audible over the music.

Bender nodded in the direction of the dance floor. "You gonna go?"

Zeke shook his head. "No, I was…" He pointed to the right side of the floor. "There."

Bender followed his gaze to a group of five or six girls bobbing their heads and thrashing around to the music. Janie was there, arms raised above her head as she swayed, and next to her was a pretty girl with dark blonde curls and a nose ring. Bender looked back at Zeke. "Christina?"

Zeke nodded. "You think I should go talk to her or wait 'til she comes up here?"

Bender shook his head. "Make her come to you."  
Zeke nodded again. "Yeah, okay."

Bender glanced back in the direction of the dance floor, but his view was blocked by Damien, who was walking towards their table. He nodded in Bender's direction, then went over to the other side of the table, where Billy was bobbing his head to the music, and leaned over to whisper something in Billy's ear.

Bender watched Billy jump in surprise, then relax when he realized who was speaking. His startled expression gave way to one of confusion, and he turned to look at Damien, who was still speaking quietly. When Damien stopped talking, Billy paused, then nodded, stood from his chair, and started walking towards the club's side exit. Damien started to follow him, then turned back to see Bender watching him. Their eyes met, and Damien flashed him a cold smile before he disappeared through the door.

Bender watched the door close, then turned to Zeke. "Hey, did you-"

"Oh, man, she's coming. What do I do?" asked Zeke.

Bender frowned. "What?"

"Christina!" Zeke nodded towards the dance floor, where Bender could see the two girls weaving in and out of the crowd, obviously headed in their direction. Bender remembered waking up in Janie's bed that morning, his stomach churning from too many beers and his head filled with questions about what they'd done the night before. He wondered vaguely what she was going to say when she saw him, if she was going to pretend like nothing had happened or if she was going to switch into girlfriend mode and sit next to him all night, shooting dirty looks at any girl that dared to get within twenty feet of him. Bender sighed. Left with those choices, he was starting to think that he might have been better off staying at Zeke's house and watching television with Anna, who drooled, but didn't get upset if he checked out other women.

When she saw him, Janie gave Bender a slow, sexy smile and walked straight over to him. He nodded in her direction and opened his mouth to say hello, but before he could get anything out, she bent over him, her straight brown hair falling to form a curtain around their faces, and kissed him full on the lips.

_Shit._

* * *

Disclaimer: I can't imagine that smoking a cigarette with a baby in the room is very healthy (for the baby or the smoker, for that matter), so please don't do it. : )

Also, please review. I really enjoy getting feedback for this story and would love to hear what you think.


	16. Don't Make Me Say It

A/N: There was some question about the italicized quotes in Allison's section in the previous chapter. Those were from her twin sisters, who were in the kitchen practicing their Latin homework. You may not care at all what the words mean, but, just in case you do, all of the words mean the same thing: "stupid".

Also, huge thanks to TBFF Nat, who answered a million questions for me about sports-related injuries. Read her stories 'Who I Really Am' and 'What Lies Beneath' (you can access them on my favorites page). They're great.

**

* * *

**

Chapter Sixteen: Don't Make Me Say It

* * *

_8:58 P.M._

After dinner, Andy spent a long time in the living room watching television. His mother went back to the office to finish up some paperwork, and his father still hadn't come home yet. He and a few of his friends from work played poker together about once a month, and more than likely, he wouldn't be home before his son went to bed…which was just fine with Andy.

Just as a new episode of Remington Steele ended, the phone rang. Andy's mother called out from the office, "Andy! Can you get that?"

Andy sighed and stood up from the couch, answering the phone in the middle of the fourth ring. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me," said James.

"Oh, hey."

"Don't sound so excited."

Andy rolled his eyes. "Sorry."

"Sure. We still on for tomorrow?"

Andy frowned. "For what?"

"Basketball. We were gonna shoot some hoops, remember?"

Andy sighed. "No, I forgot about that. I can't do it tomorrow."

"Why not?"

"I got a detention."

"For what?"

Andy paused uncertainly, wondering what he was supposed to say. _I taped a guy's butt cheeks together and then beat him up. _The words sounded so absurd in his head, like they couldn't possibly have anything to do with him.

Before he could say anything, Mrs. Clark walked into the kitchen from the office. "It's not for me, is it?" she asked.

Andy shook his head, and she nodded, opening the refrigerator door. Andy waited for her to hurry up and leave, but she didn't. She took out a jug of milk and placed it on the counter, then stood on her tiptoes and snagged a glass from the top cupboard to pour herself a glass.

"You still there?"

Andy blinked and turned away from his mom. "Yeah."

"So, what was the detention for?"

Andy let out a frustrated breath. "You wanna come over?"

James paused. "Right _now_?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Are we gonna play ball?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." Andy heard some shuffling on James's end of the line. "I'll be over in a few minutes then."

"Yeah, okay." Andy hung up the phone and looked over at his mother, who was taking shallow sips from her glass of milk.

"Was that James?" she asked.

Andy nodded.

"Is he coming over?"

He nodded again, wondering if this was the moment that she was going to remember that she should ground him.

Apparently it wasn't. Mrs. Clark took another sip of milk and looked over at the refrigerator door, which was covered in family photos and pictures of Andy from various sports events over the years. Her eyes locked onto one of them--though, which one, Andy couldn't be sure--and she became still for a moment, lost in thought. Finally, she cleared her throat and looked up, still refusing to meet his eyes. Andy's chest grew hot with shame, and he looked away from her.

"Tell James I said hello," she said quietly as she moved out of the room.

Andy nodded stiffly. "Okay."

_

* * *

9:03 P.M._

Claire spent her entire evening in front of her closet, reorganizing her shirts and skirts, first by color, then by brand. The excitement of looking at her new clothes was wearing off, and after a while she gave up on her closet and went into the bathroom, where she started cleaning out her make up case and reorganizing her bracelets. She worked steadily for about thirty minutes before she let out a deep sigh and snapped closed the lid to her jewelry box.

Claire was a very organized person, but she was especially so when she was under a lot of stress. Cleaning, straightening, shuffling, tossing, stocking: it gave her something tangible and pleasant to focus on when it seemed like everything else was falling apart, which was pretty often these days. Her parents were always fighting about something, whether it be money or their children or her father's frequent "business trips". They never screamed or yelled, but the tension was always there, thick and cold and bitter. When she was younger, their fights both fascinated and terrified her. She would press her ear against the door to her parents' bedroom and listen to their hushed, angry voices until her brother Teddy found her and took her into the kitchen for a cup of milk and as many Oreos as she could eat without throwing up. Ten years later, she just closed her bedroom door, turned on the radio, and started reorganizing her magazine collection.

After turning off the light in her bathroom, Claire walked back into the bedroom. Her father wasn't home yet, but there had been a couple of phone calls throughout the evening, and Claire assumed that he'd called to tell her mother that he would be later than he thought. She thought back to the confrontation with her mother earlier in the evening, to the look on her mother's face when Claire brought up her father's indiscretions.

_"Just because Dad's screwing some other woman doesn't give you the right to ground me!" _

Claire felt her face flush with anger and shame, and she swallowed down the shame, unwilling to feel sorry for the woman who grounded her without cause. She sat down on the edge of her bed and picked up the phone, dialing the numbers she knew better than her own.

"Hello?"

"It's me," Claire responded curtly, letting out a short, frustrated breath.

Heather paused, then sighed. "Oh, hey."

Claire rolled her eyes. "God, are you still mad at me?"

Heather sighed again, just as dramatically as he first time. "You took my car without asking. I'm not going to pretend that I'm happy about it."

Claire sighed and adjusted the phone so that she could remove her earrings. Heather was a drama queen, and she never let anything go without wringing the situation for all of the drama it was worth. Usually Claire was willing to play along, but on Friday night she wasn't in the mood.

"Nothing happened to the car," she said. "It's fine, Heather."

"But something _could_ have happened."

Claire opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. She paused, listening carefully, as the garage door opened and closed.

"I mean, what if you'd gotten into an accident?"

Claire looked away from the window. "I said I was sorry."

Heather scoffed. "No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did," Claire answered distractedly, glancing over at her bedroom door. Downstairs, the door leading in from the garage opened and shut, and she could hear her father set his briefcase down on the kitchen table.

"No, you didn't. You never apologize."

Claire stood from the bed and walked over to her bedroom door, dragging the phone cord behind her. She pulled the door open a crack and leaned against the doorframe, listening to her parent's muffled voices. "Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

Downstairs, her parents' voices grew louder and louder as they continued talking. Claire couldn't hear everything that they were saying, but she was able to pick up on a few key phrases like "late hours", "never home anymore", and "new secretary". She sighed and started to close the door, then stopped when she heard the word "daughter".

"…detention for leaving school…"

"…gave her the credit card…"

"…should ground her…"

"…called the school…"

"…doing her no favors…"

Claire leaned against the wall, pressing her forehead against the edge of the doorway. Her parents words floated up the staircase, gaining strength as the argument became more heated. Claire felt tears pricking the back of her eyes, and she imagined her brother in his studio apartment in New York, standing at the kitchen counter eating Oreo cookies.

"…don't know why I even bother."

Claire blinked once, twice. "What?"

Heather scoffed. "God, you're not even listening to me. You _never _pay attention when I talk to you. Unless it's about Jack, and then you're all ears."

Claire wiped the moisture from her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic," she said weakly.

Heather let out a short, derisive chuckle, but Claire could tell that she was genuinely upset. "Whatever. I have to go."

"No, wait!" Claire blurted, desperate to keep her on the phone. "I'm sorry, Heather. I was just…" She trailed off, unsure of what to say next. Downstairs, her mother shouted something about "this wreck of a partnership", and Claire tightened her grip on the phone at her ear. "I just…" she whispered.

Heather sighed. "Look, it doesn't matter. I'll talk to you later, alright?" Without waiting for Claire to respond, she hung up the phone.

Claire stood there in the doorway for a long time, phone still pressed against her ear, listening to the sound of the dial tone.

_

* * *

9:10 P.M._

James pulled into Andy's driveway about ten minutes after the two of them hung up the phone. He climbed out of the driver's side door and reached into the back seat to pull out his leg brace, then locked the door behind him. When he saw Andy, James nodded in greeting. "Hey."

Andy nodded in response, and the two of them walked further down the driveway, where a ragged, dirty basketball hoop was anchored to the top of the garage door. Andy adjusted the straps on his own leg brace and grabbed a basketball from the garage, returning just as James finished putting on his brace. Andy threw the ball at James, who caught it easily. "To ten," said Andy.

James nodded and bounced the ball back to his friend to check. Andy returned it to him, and the game began.

They played without speaking, no noise except for a few bursts of ragged breathing and the squeaking thuds of their rubber-soled shoes hitting the concrete beneath them. It wasn't an intense game. Andy's knee was still weak after his ACL tear last season, and James was in even worse shape. He had been Shermer's star point guard for the basketball team until November of the previous year during the first game of the season. He'd jumped to make a three-point shot, but landed awkwardly on his right leg, rupturing his ACL. The ball went in, and the shot counted, but unfortunately it came with a pretty steep price. His family couldn't afford the expensive surgery needed to fix the problem, and James couldn't play without it. The full ride he'd been offered to Ohio State was revoked, and he started looking at brochures for local community colleges. Three points for four years. Sometimes life doesn't balance out very well.

After about fifteen minutes, James, who was easily eight inches taller than Andy, put one up over his friend's head. "That's ten," he said.

Andy nodded and wiped his forehead with the bottom of his cotton t-shirt, and James walked over to Andy's Bronco, which was parked about halfway down the driveway, and leaned against the hood. Andy grabbed two bottles of water from the refrigerator in the garage and handed one to James.

"So, what about your detention?"

Andy looked up. "What about it?" he asked guardedly.

James took a sip of water and wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm. "What was it for?"

Andy hesitated, then sighed. "Got into a fight."

James looked surprised, but only a little. "With who?"

Andy shook his head slightly, wondering how many times he was going to have to say it out loud before it sounded any less absurd. "I don't know." He paused. "Just some guy in the locker room."

James nodded. "What happened?"

"I beat him up…taped his butt cheeks together," he said, smiling. But it was a forced smile, and he was sick of talking about it, sick of himself.

James paused thoughtfully. "Are you talking about Larry Lester?"

Andy glanced over. "You know him?"

James shrugged. "He was my partner for that presentation I had to make in English today, but he never showed up. Mrs. Newbery said he got hurt and had to go home early." He glanced over at Andy. "So, what did he do?"

Andy paused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, why'd you tape his butt cheeks together?"

Andy clenched his jaw, suddenly angry at the question he'd known was coming. He glanced over at James's knee, held together by metal and cloth, and felt a surge of envy roll through his body. Immediately, he felt disgusted at himself. He looked away and shoved off from the Bronco, walking over to where the basketball was sitting a few feet away. He picked it up and started dribbling lazily, desperate for something to focus on. He made a couple of shots that didn't go in, and finally one that did. After a couple minutes of this, James came up from behind him and nodded at the ball.

"To ten."

_

* * *

9:24 P.M._

Bender sat perfectly still as Janie moved her mouth over his, her soft, glossy lips a perfect contrast with his chapped, dry ones. He wanted to squirm out of her grip, but he managed to stay put until she finally pulled away, smiling sweetly, her eyes glittering in the darkness. "I'm glad you decided to come," she whispered.

Bender nodded, but not too enthusiastically, and glanced over at Zeke, who was standing beside the table, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans, stammering through a conversation with Christina, who was watching him calmly.

"So, how was your day?"

Bender looked back at Janie, who had dropped down into Zeke's abandoned seat and was watching him expectantly. He picked up his glass and took a sip of beer. "Fine."

Janie smiled. "I was thinking about you today…wondering if you'd be here tonight."

Bender picked up the glass again and took a sip, just so he wouldn't have to meet her eyes.

Janie scooted her chair a bit closer to his and slid a hand over his thigh. "If you want to come home with me again, you can."

Bender let out a noncommittal grunt. Janie leaned over until her face was inches from his, her lips hovering next to his ear. "I _want_ you to come over," she whispered, her warm breath sending chills down his spine. "I want you to walk me home, and when we get there I want you to…"

Bender listened closely as she described, in detail, exactly what she wanted from him. He kept his face a blank slate, but he couldn't help that his heart was beating so loudly that he could hear the blood pounding in his ears, nearly drowning out Janie's words. On any another night, he might have been turned on by her proposition, but this time he wasn't. Janie presented no challenge, put up no fight. She wanted to be conquered, _asked_ it of him, and of what worth was that to him?

"…can even sleep in tomorrow. You can have breakfast at my house. I don't have anywhere to be, so--"

"I have detention," Bender said bluntly. He downed the rest of his beer in one large gulp, then stood from his chair. Davis was sitting a few feet away, still working on a cup of peanuts that he'd taken from the bar. Bender walked over and kicked the bottom of his seat. "I'm going to smoke a cigarette. You want to come?"

Davis looked up and frowned. "I don't have any cigarettes."

"You can have one of mine."

Davis shrugged and poured the rest of the peanuts into his mouth, then plunked his cup onto the table. Bender started walking towards the door, then paused to look back at Janie. She was still sitting in Zeke's chair, one hand resting on the seat he had occupied only seconds before, the other hand reaching up to tuck a long, dark strand of hair behind one ear. She was staring at his empty chair, her eyes narrowed in confusion, as if she couldn't quite figure out what had just happened.

Bender turned away from her and started walking towards the side exit. Davis had disappeared and was presumably already outside. Just as Bender reached the door, it swung open, pouring a wide band of moonlight onto the dark wooden floor.

"Something happened to Billy," said Davis.

* * *

A/N: Angsty chapter, I know. Two more chapters to go (and I'm almost completely sure this time, LOL). Please review and tell me what you think. Thank you for reading. 


	17. When I Step Outside of Myself

A/N: I'm sorry for all of the problems with this chapter (accidentally removing it, posting it again, blah blah blah). It's a long and boring story, so I won't bore you with it. Suffice to say that I am a total idiot when it comes to all this technical stuff, and the site-wide log-in problems weren't helping any (I was just about ready to pull all of my hair waiting for everything to be fixed!).

As for the chapter, I hope you like angst, because you're about to be covered in it. Also, you may need to go back and refresh your memory about what has happened in previous chapters, especially for Bender and Allison's sections.

Thanks for the lovely reviews. I appreciate everyone taking the time to drop a line. Enjoy this chapter.

**

* * *

**

Chapter Seventeen: When I Step Outside of Myself

* * *

_9:29 P.M._

Bender pushed Davis out of the way and stepped out onto the sidewalk. About ten feet away, Billy was sprawled out on the ground, eyes closed and face bloody. A girl in a black leather jacket and a short denim skirt was crouched over him, tentatively brushing a lock of brown hair away from his face. When Bender walked up to them and squatted down beside his friend, the girl looked up, eyes wide.

"I'm sorry. I was about to go get someone, but I didn't--"

"What happened?" Bender interrupted.

The girl hesitated. "I don't know. I didn't--"

"I _said_, what happened?" Bender repeated, more forcibly this time. He looked up at her face, past the false eyelashes and the deep red lipstick, into her eyes.

She was scared.

"I…" She bit her lip, and a fleck of lipstick rubbed off onto her tooth. "This guy…he had a knife. He had it up, you know, up against his throat."

Bender rolled Billy's head over to the side so that he could see the small, red cut on his neck, then took Billy's face in his hands, unsure of what he was supposed to do. He patted Billy's cheek a couple of times, but nothing happened. "Billy," he said loudly. "Billy." Bender turned back to the girl beside him. "Did he say anything?"

She nodded. "The other guy was threatening him. I didn't hear all of it, but he said something about how he needed to learn respect or he would get himself in trouble some day." The girl swallowed deeply. "He said that, um…he said this was just a warning and that next time it would be for real."

Bender looked away from Billy's red, swollen face and back at the girl. "For real?" he echoed.

The girl nodded.

Bender looked up at Davis, who was standing on Billy's other side, hands tucked under his arms and eyes darting back and forth between Billy's unmoving body and the back of the girl's head. When he saw that Bender was watching him, he stopped and looked down at him, his eyes filled with worry.

Bender turned back to the girl. "Who was it?"

The girl's eyes grew wide, and she paused, then shook her head slightly.

Bender swallowed deeply. "Blonde guy?"

The girl's eyes widened even further, but she didn't respond.

Bender pushed on. "Leather jacket?"

The girl let out a tiny, almost inaudible whimper. Bender looked back at Billy's face, then down at his own hands, with the traces of dried blood on his palms and fingertips. He stood up.

"Take care of him," he said to Davis. "Try to wake him up. If he doesn't wake up in a few minutes, call 911."

Davis's eyes widened. "Where are _you_ going?"

Bender didn't answer, just walked over to the club's side entrance, yanked open the door, and disappeared back into the club.

_

* * *

9:30 P.M. _

At about 9:30, Allison woke up to the sound of the front door slamming. She opened her eyes, wiped them with the back of her hand, and glanced over at the floor in front of the couch. Her brother's LEGO castle was still sitting in the middle of the floor, but he was nowhere in sight.

Allison stood from the couch and climbed the stairs to her bedroom, which was empty. Her sister was probably still downstairs in the office, which she believed was "significantly more conducive to organization and rational thought" than the bedroom she shared with her younger sister. Allison had no idea how this was possible, but she assumed that it probably had something to do with her.

She spent the next hour listening to music and straightening her side of the room. Earlier in the evening, Danielle had thrown a huge pile of clothes onto Allison's bed, most likely because they were taking up space on Danielle's half of the room. Allison used the smell test to divide the clothes into dirty and clean piles, then threw the dirty clothes into the hamper by the closet and dumped the clean clothes into a pile at the foot of her bed.

At about eleven o'clock, Allison turned off the light and climbed into bed, burying herself under the covers. She laid there for a long time, staring out the window next to her bed, looking at the full moon. It looked so close, like she could reach out and pluck it from the sky. She wondered how far away it really was, how many thousands and thousands of miles separated her from it's rocky surface. Danielle would know, probably. Not that she would tell Allison anything anyway, if she did.

Allison sighed and pulled the pillow closer to her chest, leaning her cheek against the soft fabric and breathing in its slightly musty scent. A few minutes later, the door to her bedroom creaked open, and Danielle walked in, stepping quietly. She shut the door behind her and walked over to the closet, where Allison could hear her changing into her pajamas. Finally, she closed the closet door and climbed into bed. Allison closed her eyes and listened for the sound of her sister's soft, measured breaths, but it never came. After a few minutes, she heard a swift, sharp intake of breath, followed by a muffled sob.

Allison opened her eyes, blinking a few times to help them adjust to the darkness. After a moment, she could see the hazy outline of Danielle's body, her knees tucked up against her chest, her shoulders shaking. Every few seconds, she would let out a choked sob, followed by a shallow sniffle. Mostly, she was quiet.

Allison laid there for a long time, watching the moon rise higher and higher in the sky. She remembered the boy in the vice principal's office, how he had doubled over in his seat, his face caving in from some unknown anguish. She remembered the raw, choked expression on his face, the way her stomach tightened painfully in response. She remembered her own uncertainty, the way her words caught in her throat and her feet felt glued to the linoleum flooring, preventing her from moving.

After a few minutes, Allison turned over onto her side so that she was facing the window, pulled the pillow tighter against her abdomen, and tried to go to sleep.

_

* * *

9:32 P.M. _

By the time Bender got back to the table, Janie had gone, leaving Zeke and Christina alone with two empty glasses of beer and half a dozen empty seats to choose from. Zeke was sitting in his original seat, talking a mile a minute, wiping his sweaty hands against his dark blue t-shirt. Christina was sitting quietly, watching him talk.

Bender walked straight up to Zeke and grabbed his shoulder. "Have you seen Damien?"

Startled, Zeke turned around. "Damien? No, why?"

Bender clenched his jaw. "I'll explain later. You sure you haven't seen him?"

"He's at the bar."

Bender and Zeke turned to look at Christina, who was watching them calmly. "He's buying a drink," she explained, nodding in the direction of the bar.

Bender turned to look. Damien was leaning against the wooden counter, passing the bartender a dollar bill. The man handed him a beer, and Damien walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

Bender turned back to Zeke. "Go out the side entrance. Something happened to Billy, and Davis needs your help."

Zeke's eyes widened. "To _Billy_? What happened? Why does--"

Bender shook his head and started moving away from him. "Just go. Make sure Davis doesn't fuck it up." Before Zeke could argue with him, Bender turned away and pushed deeper into the crowd.

Damien was lounging at a table in the club's farthest corner, alone. Bender walked up to him and, without bothering to say hello, grabbed the collar of Damien's leather jacket and hauled him out of his seat.

"What the fuck did you do?" he growled.

Damien didn't say anything, just smirked. Bender tightened his grip on Damien's jacket and slammed him into the wall.

"I'm not fucking around! What the hell did you do?"

Damien looked down at Bender's fingers, which were still curled around the flaps of leather, then back up at Bender. Bender hesitated, let out a shallow breath, and released him.

Damien adjusted his collar and cleared his throat. "Thank you. That's much better."

Bender felt his hands curl into fists. "Why'd you do it?"

Damien's lips curled into a smile, a friendly smile that released a dimple and showed his teeth. His eyes were as cold as ice. "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to be more specific. I don't--"

"Fuck specific! He didn't do anything to you!"

Damien held up a hand. "Actually, that's not true."

Bender paused. "What could he have possibly--" Then he stopped, thinking back to their lunch period in the bleachers, when Billy had called Damien a prick and stormed off to practice skateboarding on the ramp. He remembered the way Damien watched him leave, his eyes as stony and cold as Bender had ever seen them. He remembered the way Damien had then turned towards Bender, his lips curled into an ironic smile, a puff of cigarette smoke escaping through the gap. "Because he called you a prick?" Bender asked, flabbergasted. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Damien's smile disappeared. "I don't kid. And if I wanted a good fuck, I certainly wouldn't ask you."

Bender shook his head in disbelief. "He's just a kid. He's not even a threat to you!"

Damien shrugged. "Doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it."

The anger rose high and swift, and before Bender knew what he was doing, he had Damien pinned against the wall, one hand around the other man's neck, the other cocked at his side, ready to strike.

"You don't mess with my friends, do you hear me?" He shouted. "You pull shit like that again and I will--"

_Click._

Bender stopped speaking, but his eyes never left Damien's face. Damien cocked an eyebrow expectantly, and Bender clenched his jaw. After a moment, he removed the hand from Damien's neck and took a step backwards to give Damien some space. Damien took his time collecting himself, using his left hand to rub his neck and straighten his collar while his right hand kept a firm grip on the switchblade in his hand.

Damien took a small step forward and looked down at the knife. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. What will you do to me?"

Bender narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything.

Damien nodded. "Has anyone ever told you that you've got a way with words? I mean, those were some great lines. '_You don't mess with my friends!'_" Damien shouted, mimicking Bender's tone. He laughed. "What a great line. Do you mind if I use it someday?"

Bender sneered. "I don't know. Do you have any friends?"

Damien laughed. "Another zinger! Do you have any paper, because I want to write some of this down!"

"Fuck off."

Damien nodded slowly, pretending to take this under consideration. "You know, I think I'd rather not. And, to answer your other question, I _do_ have friends. _Lots_ of friends. And they do whatever…"

He took a small step forward, drawing close to the table.

"I…"

He raised the knife into the air and stabbed it into the top of the chair in front of him.

"…_tell them_."

Bender sucked in a shallow breath, and Damien took a moment to let his words and his actions sink in. Finally, he cleared his throat. "I think we're done here, don't you?"

Bender started to say something, then forced the comment and his pride deep into his stomach. He nodded.

"Good." Damien smiled. "It was nice talking to you. Maybe next time you'll let me buy you a beer before you try to jam your fist down my throat."

Bender narrowed his eyes, refusing to speak. He turned to go, and Damien started rummaging around in his pockets for a pack of cigarettes. Instinctively, Bender saw his window of opportunity. Before he could stop himself, he reached out and plucked the knife from the top of the chair. Damien glanced up from his cigarettes, but it was too late.

"I hope you don't mind if I take this," Bender said, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

Damien narrowed his eyes, but managed a tight smile. "No, go ahead." He shrugged. "There's more where that came from anyhow."

Bender nodded. "You're right. There is." With saying anything else, Bender stuffed the knife into the pocket of his denim jacket and walked away.

_

* * *

1:37 A.M. _

Brian went to bed early on Friday night, too exhausted to think about homework or his sister or the fact that he would have to spend nine hours at school the next day doing absolutely nothing. He laid there for a long time, going in and out of consciousness, in and out of sleep. He woke up once to hear his parents arguing quietly in the room next to his, his mother's shrill, indignant questions in sharp contrast to his father's patient, defeated responses. Brian didn't even try to figure out what they were arguing about. He was pretty sure that he knew the answer anyway.

Despite his exhaustion, he woke up several times during the night, too tired to stay awake but too restless to fall asleep for real. When he woke for the last time at 1:37 in the morning, he let out a sigh of resignation and pulled himself out of bed to go to the bathroom.

When he was finished using the toilet, Brian turned on the cold water in the sink and splashed a handful onto his face. He looked up at his reflection in the mirrored medicine cabinet door, at the pale, weary face staring back at him. His eyes met their reflection, and he tried as hard as he could to see beyond the soft blue circles edged in white, past the cornea, the pupil, the lens. He tried, but couldn't get far enough, couldn't reach all the way down to the core of his person to get to the part that really mattered.

After a moment, he reached up and opened the medicine cabinet door. Deodorant, extra razor cartridges, hair gel, his sister's Barbie toothpaste, and, in the back, a large bottle of Aspirin.

Slowly, Brian reached up and took the bottle of Aspirin from the shallow metal shelf. He held it in his hand for a moment, memorizing the way it felt against his fingertips, wondering how many pills were in the bottle. The front label said there were 100, but a few had already been used. There were about 80 pills left, or 75.

After a moment, Brian heard a soft rattling sound coming from somewhere nearby. He blinked, realizing that his hands were shaking and that the pills were moving around in the bottle, clanking against one another. Brian quickly put the bottle back on its shelf and shut the door to the medicine cabinet, letting his hand rest against the edge for a few seconds to make sure that it was closed. He took a couple of deep breaths, and his fingertips to slid away from the glass, flopping against the sink with a hollow thud. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears, draining the already quiet room of all sound.

If the fire alarm hadn't gone off at that precise moment, if he hadn't been so scared of being alone…would he have gone through with it, or would he have chickened out, like he always did?

Brian gripped the cold, rounded edge of the sink and leaned forward, closing his eyes. He took a few ragged breaths and looked back up at the mirror, at the pale, sweaty face and the bloodshot eyes. He stared at his reflection for a long time, desperate this time to get a glimpse of something that he could hold onto. But there wasn't anything like that behind his eyes or behind the reflection in the glass. Just a bottle of pills and a tube of Barbie toothpaste.

Taking one more deep breath, Brian flicked off the bathroom light and walked back down the hall to his bedroom.

* * *

A/N: I will post the final chapter as soon as I get around to writing it. ;) Please leave me some feedback, alright? Thanks. : ) 


	18. The Beginning

A/N: Just so no one's confused, school field trips can sometimes take place on the weekend, especially if it's a super special trip that you have to pay for.

And this chapter is kind of long since everyone's in it. Try not to fall asleep. ;)

**

* * *

**

Chapter Eighteen: The Beginning

* * *

_5:30 A.M._

Vernon's alarm clock went off at 5:30 on Saturday morning, a good two and a half hours before it would have gone off had his plans included nine holes of golf instead of nine hours of boredom and misery babysitting a group of delinquents who couldn't manage to stay out of trouble for one goddamn day. Little brats.

He showered, shaved, and dressed himself quickly. On his way out the door, he stopped for a quick glimpse of his wife, Molly, who was still sound asleep in bed, her wild brown curls splayed across her cheek. Her body shifted slightly, one hand stretching out sleepily. Worried that she would wake up completely and drag him into some absurd discussion about who the hell knows what, Vernon quickly shut the bedroom door and made a break for the kitchen to fix his lunch.

He arrived at the school at about 6:40, irritated at the woman at the donut shop for mixing up his order, yet again. He sat down at his desk and pulled his bag of donuts from his briefcase. Then he started thumbing through the stack of papers on his desk to find the detention roster.

But it wasn't there. Vernon pushed his donuts to the side and started pawing through his inbox, glancing at every page to make sure that he wasn't missing anything. After a couple of minutes of searching, he still hadn't found it.

And then he remembered. He'd burned the damn thing and threw it away with the garbage. Vernon swore under his breath and grabbed the garbage can next to his desk. It was empty except for a fresh white trash bag.

"Shit," Vernon muttered. He couldn't remember who was supposed to be there. Bender, of course. And then that kid with the gun, Johnson something. And the girl whose father had called late Friday afternoon to get his daughter out of detention. But there were others, too. He just couldn't remember their names, or how many there were.

"Shit," he muttered again, just because it felt good to swear. "Shit, shit, shit!"

There had to be some way to take roll without admitting that he had lost the list, he reasoned. Maybe he could pass a paper around and have everyone sign in. Would that look stupid? Or maybe…

Vernon grabbed a stack of notebook paper from his desk drawer. Why do that when he could kill two birds with one stone? Students hated essays. He'd learned that lesson well enough during his days teaching English. What better way to take roll _and_ get back at the students for making him miss his golf game? Vernon smiled and settled back in his seat.

_How do you like that, huh, Bender?_

_

* * *

5:43 A.M. _

Andy woke up at 5:43 A.M. on Saturday morning, exactly two minutes before his alarm was set to go off. He flung an arm over his eyes to shield them from the sun that was already peaking over the rooftops and spilling into his bedroom through a space between the curtains. He turned over onto his side and nestled further under the covers, trying to get back to sleep.

But two minutes later, he was wide awake again. Blindly, he reached for his alarm clock and hit the top a couple of times until the beeping stopped. Tentatively, he opened is eyes. 5:45. Why the hell did he set his alarm so early? He didn't usually wake up on Saturdays until at least eight o'clock, later if he could help it.

He'd just managed to get comfortable again when it hit him that he had to be in detention in exactly one hour and fifteen minutes. He'd set his alarm so that he could get up and go for a run beforehand. "Shit," he muttered, throwing the covers aside.

The temperature outside was hovering somewhere around forty degrees, but the cold didn't bother Andy. He zipped up his fleece jacket and took off down the street, heading for the park next to the middle school. There was a trail there that he liked, one that he took when he wasn't with his father. It was shady and private, and the fact that no one knew he used it only added to its appeal.

As he ran, his thoughts turned back to the previous day's events. He remembered standing outside during the fire drill, watching his friends pull pranks on the two nerdy boys wearing gym shorts and embarrassed expressions. He remembered sitting in the locker room, taping up his knee, his father's words tumbling around in his head. He remembered the way the nerd's face felt under the weight of his knuckles, the sound of the tape being ripped from the boy's skin, the shocked silence that followed…

Before Andy knew it, he was back at the start of the trail, about five minutes ahead of schedule. He'd been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't even realized how fast he'd been running. He looked up at the sky, pale blue against the deep green forest he'd just emerged from, and suddenly felt exposed in the morning light. Part of him wanted to turn around and head back into the woods, where he could hide until he the rest of the world didn't hate him so much. Until he didn't hate himself so much.

But didn't do it. Instead, he paid careful attention to his speed as he made the slow jog back to his house. By that time, the sun had cleared the rooftops, and the temperature had risen by about ten degrees. Andy opened his front door and stepped inside. His mother was cooking breakfast. Pancakes maybe, or waffles, judging by the smell. He pulled his hood away from his head and walked into the kitchen.

His father was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper. When Andy walked in, Mr. Clark looked up at his son long enough to make eye contact and nod, but didn't offer any verbal greetings. Andy took his seat at the table and looked over at his mother, who was watching him from her place next to the stove. She looked away quickly and wiped her hands on a dish towel on the counter. "Hungry?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah." Andy unzipped his jacket and poured himself a glass of orange juice. Mrs. Clark brought over a plate of pancakes from the kitchen counter and set them in the middle of the table. Mr. Clark turned a page in his newspaper and reached for his glass of milk.

Andy ate quickly, knowing he would need time for a quick shower before he left for detention. As he ate, he kept glancing over at his father, who still hadn't said a word about his fight or detention. Any minute now, any minute…

But the words didn't come. Finally, Andy wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood from his chair. "Thanks, Mom."

His mother nodded and looked over at her husband. Mr. Clark pulled the newspaper away and folded it up, setting it on the table in front of him. "You'd better hurry if you don't want to be late."

Andy nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Be down here in ten minutes. I'll take you to school."

Andy paused uncertainly. "I can drive myself. It's--"

"I'll take you," Mr. Clark said firmly. "Be down here in ten minutes."

Andy nodded mutely and turned away, knowing that it was pointless to argue. He trudged upstairs and stripped down to his sweatpants, throwing his sneakers across the room, where they landed with a heavy thud. His eyes settled on his desk, which glittered gold and silver and bronze in the morning light.

"Fucking fire drill," he muttered.

_

* * *

6:15 A.M. _

Allison woke up on Saturday morning to find her cat Harold curled up in a ball right next to her head. She frowned sleepily, and he reached out to put a paw on the tip of her nose. Allison brushed the paw away and turned to look at the clock next to her bed. 6:15.

Allison sighed and glanced over at her sister's bed, which was empty. Danielle was probably out for her morning run. The thought of performing an activity that required so much energy that early in the morning made Allison even sleepier than she already was. She turned back over on her side and tried to go back to sleep.

But Harold had other plans. After a couple of minutes, she felt something brush against hr hair, and she opened her eyes to see Harold chewing on the dark strands. She pushed him away, but he hopped back onto her pillow and curled up next to her face, resting his chin against her forehead.

Allison sighed, frustrated. She sat up in bed and glared at Harold, who looked back at her innocently. She stuck her tongue out at him and stood up from the bed.

Downstairs, the kitchen was in chaos. The twins were going on a school field trip to the planetarium, and their mother was busy packing lunches. Allison's father was standing by the kitchen sink, talking on the phone.

"So, how about that math class you were telling your mother about? Are you maintaining that A?" he asked.

So, he was talking to Tom, Allison's older brother, who was finishing up his freshman year at Harvard. Allison sat down at the kitchen table next to her younger brother Steven, who was eating a bowl of cereal.

"You're up early," he said, pushing up his glasses with his index finger.

Allison nodded and reached for a spare bowl from the center of the table. She filled it with Cheerios and milk and started eating.

"That's good to hear. Do you think you'll make the Dean's List again this semester?" Her father paused, listening. Then he smiled proudly. "Well, that's good. Don't want to lose that scholarship now."

Allison's sister Jenny stood from her place at the table and took her plate over to the sink to be washed. Her mother looked up as she passed. "Jenny, do you have you bag packed?"

"No," answered the younger girl. "I was just about to go do it."

"Honey, do you have anything to say to Tom?" Mr. Reynolds asked, holding the mouthpiece away so as not to shout directly into the phone. "He's about to go downstairs to get breakfast."

"I want to talk to him!" Michelle exclaimed.

Mr. Reynolds shook his head. "Not now. Maybe later."

Michelle's face fell. "Okay."

Mrs. Reynolds sighed. "Tell him I'll call him back later. I have a million things to do right now."

Mr. Reynolds nodded and went back to the phone. Jenny and her mother started arguing about what the girls would need for their field trip. Beside her, Steven reached for the box of Cheerios, which were sitting next to Allison's bowl. His arm was just a little bit too short. Allison wiped her mouth with her sleeve and reached over to hand it to him, but she was too late. Steven's fingers brushed against the box, knocking it over. Cheerios spilled all over the wooden table.

"Steven!" their mother exclaimed.

Steven's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I didn't--"

"Clean it up," she responded shortly.

Allison started wiping up Cheerios with her hands, pushing them into a pile at the center of the table. She glanced up to see her mother shaking her head angrily, stuffing ham sandwiches into their sacks. Beside her, Steven was silent as he helped Allison push the pieces of cereal into the pile.

"_Detention. Tomorrow."_

Allison's mother threw the sandwich bag into Jenny's pick lunchbox and shut the lid. Then she grabbed the dustpan from the pantry and walked over to the table, thrusting it into Allison's hand.

"Honey, Tom says that he won't be around the dorm today," said Mr. Reynolds. "He and his roommate are going to the city library to study for a big Latin test."

"Well, I can't talk to him right now," she responded angrily, glaring at Steven. Steven bit his lip and went back to sweeping up Cheerios.

"_I'll see you tomorrow at 7 A.M."_

Jenny walked back into the room with her backpack in one hand. "Mom, I can't find my shoes!"

"They're under your bed," Michelle informed her, mouth full of cereal.

"No, they're not!" Jenny said. "I looked there already."

"Honey, Tom says that he just has a quick question to ask you. It'll only take a minute."

"I have detention."

Everyone stopped to look at Allison, who was still standing at the table holding the dust pan. "At seven o'clock," she said quietly.

"Today?" her father asked.

Allison nodded. "If I'm late I have to clean chalkboards."

Allison's mother sighed angrily. "Great. We're already running late as it is." She grabbed an extra sandwich bag and started spreading mayonnaise on a piece of bread.

Allison looked down at Steven, who was still standing next to her, clutching a handful of cereal in his right hand. He looked up at her, squinting through his thick glasses.

"I guess that's why you had to get up early," he observed.

Allison sighed and held out the dust pan for him.

_

* * *

6:20 A.M. _

Claire arrived downstairs on Saturday morning to find her father sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. When she entered the room, he lowered the paper and smiled fondly. "Good morning, Princess. How did you sleep?"

Claire took a seat next to him. "Fine."

"That's good." He patted her hand and picked up the paper again.

Claire glared at the back page of the newspaper. "Did you talk to Mr. Vernon?" she asked.

Mr. Standish lowered the paper again. "Sorry, sweetheart?"

Claire sighed. "I asked if you talked to Mr. Vernon, the vice principal." She paused. "You know, about my detention."

Mr. Standish smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I did call, but Mr. Vernon was very firm. He said that it wouldn't be fair to the others if you didn't have to go."

"What others?" Claire asked indignantly. "The stoners? Daddy, they do drugs! Of course they deserve to be there. I didn't do _anything_."

"Yes, you did. You skipped school."

Claire turned to see her mother standing right behind her, holding a pitcher of orange juice in one hand. She lifted an eyebrow. "Juice?"

Claire didn't respond. She turned back to the table and grabbed a piece of toast from the plate at the center of the table. Her mother set the pitcher down beside her own glass and sat down at the seat across from Claire's.

Claire reached for the butter, deliberately ignoring her mother, who was watching her. For the next few minutes, the table was silent except for the sound of her father turning the pages of his newspaper.

Finally, Claire put her toast down and looked up at her mother. "Daddy, there's a party I want to go to tonight," she said, her eyes never leaving her mother's face.

Her father pulled the paper away. "Alright. You can take the car," he said distractedly.

Mrs. Standish cleared her throat. "Actually, she can't. Claire is grounded."

Mr. Standish glanced up at his wife. "Is she?"

Mrs. Standish nodded. "I told you that last night," she responded evenly.

"You told me a lot of things last night," he replied coolly. "I apologize for having forgotten that one detail."

Claire's mother didn't respond to that. She looked over at Claire, who was still glaring at her from across the table. "You know you're not going to the party," she said.

Claire shook her head. "This isn't fair."

Mrs. Standish ignored the comment. "That means no car privileges either. I'll drive you to school."

Claire shook her head. "No, I want Dad to drive me."

Mr. Standish glanced over at his wife smugly, but Mrs. Standish wasn't paying attention to him. She was still staring at her daughter, her expression hard and unsympathetic. But as Claire continued glaring at her, she noticed that her mother's eyes were sad. Sad and tired.

Claire looked away. "I'll be ready in a few minutes," she informed her father. Then she placed her napkin on the table and went upstairs to get ready.

_

* * *

6:31 A.M. _

Brian's mother set a plate of waffles in the center of the table and glanced down at Brian's empty plate. "Are you hungry?" she asked.

Brian nodded, though it really wasn't true. In fact, he was feeling a bit sick to his stomach thinking about the detention he had that morning. In less than thirty minutes, he would have to walk into a room of total strangers--half of whom could probably beat him within an inch of his life if they found reason to, or if they just got bored--and he was too nervous to even think about eating. But his mother was watching him, waiting for him to take a waffle, so he did.

"Is that all you want?" his mother asked him. "You probably won't eat lunch for another five or six hours. You'd better eat until you're full."

"Yeah," said his sister Jamie, who was sitting next to him, smiling smugly.

Brian looked back at his mother and nodded. He took two more waffles from the platter and moved them onto his own plate.

When his mother stepped away from the table, Brian looked back at his sister, whose mouth was full of mashed up waffle and maple syrup. When she noticed him watching her, she made a face at him. "What are you looking at?" she demanded angrily.

Brian sighed and looked away. He knew that Jamie was mad at him for the way he'd yelled at her the night before. Usually, he let her come in and play dolls on his floor while he did his homework, and he figured that he'd hurt her feelings when he'd kicked her out of his room. Not that he blamed her. He hated himself for it, too.

Mrs. Johnson walked back up to the table and sat down at the seat across from her children. Brian started cutting his waffles into small bites, hoping that his mother wouldn't notice that he hadn't touched his food yet. A few minutes passed without anyone saying anything. Brian gulped down his food, hardly noticing the way it tasted.

After a few minutes, Mrs. Johnson set her fork down and wiped her mouth with a napkin. "Don't forget your backpack," she told her son. "You can work on your homework while you're there."

Brian opened his mouth to correct her, but Jamie interrupted him. "Yeah," she said, using the sing-song voice that drove him crazy.

Brian sighed and stood from the table. "I'm going to get ready," he told his mother.

She nodded. "Be back down in five minutes."

Brian nodded and went upstairs. He brushed his teeth quickly and walked into his bedroom to find his shoes. Then he grabbed his backpack from the floor next to his desk, not even bothering to make sure that he'd packed the right books.

Mr. Vernon had informed him the day before that he wouldn't be able to do homework during detention on Saturday, but Brian didn't know how he felt about that. Part of him was relieved by the rule because it gave him a required break from his studies, but the other part of him was disappointed. He had nine hours to sit there and do nothing except think about the F and the flare gun and how he'd screwed everything up, for himself and his parents. At least homework would provide a welcome distraction. How was he going to sit there all day and not go crazy with worry?

Brian sighed and closed his eyes, letting his bag fall to the floor. The better question was, how was he going to survive another day in this house without his heart giving out from the anxiety he'd worked so hard to keep packed away where he could pretend it didn't bother him? He tried to imagine what it would be like to continue down the path he was going, to keep working hard without saying anything to his parents. He tried, but he just couldn't see it. He couldn't see anything beyond the four walls of his bedroom, couldn't see past this moment where he was standing there alone, surrounded by silence.

"Brian! We're waiting for you!"

Brian's eyes fluttered open. "I'm coming!" he shouted. He took another deep breath, lifted his backpack off of the floor, and went downstairs.

_

* * *

6:43 A.M. _

Bender woke up to the sun in his eyes, but it was different than the sun that poked through the holes in his shabby curtains back home. Confused, Bender sat up and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. Then he realized that he was sitting on the couch in Zeke's living room, and that the blanket covering him came from Zeke's bed.

Bender looked around and found his combat boots sitting on the floor next to the couch. His trench coat and denim jacket were laid out over the arm of the sofa chair a few feet away. He grabbed those and shrugged them on over his red flannel shirt. Just as he finished pulling on his trench coat, Zeke walked into the room, his hair wild from sleep.

"Hey."

Bender nodded in greeting. "How's Billy?"

"Still asleep."

Bender nodded. Billy had woken up just after Bender had left to go find Damien. The boys took him back to Zeke's house, where he promptly fell asleep in Zeke's bed. Davis left shortly thereafter, but Bender wasn't in any hurry to get back to his own house. Zeke offered Bender the couch and slept on his own floor so that he could watch after Billy.

"You want some cereal or something?"

Bender shook his head. "I have to go."

Zeke frowned sleepily. "It's not even seven yet."

"I have detention."

"Oh." Zeke wiped his eye with the back of his hand. "Well, you can come over again when you're done. Watch TV or something."

Bender nodded. "Yeah." He pulled his sunglasses out of his trench coat and started walking towards the door. "See ya later."

He took the back roads until one of them dead-ended into the athletic fields behind the school. As he walked, he thought about what the hell he was going to do about Damien. As elusive as the guy was, Bender knew him well enough to know that he was going to come after him for attacking him at the club and for stealing his knife. Maybe not right away, but it would happen, Bender could be sure of it. The best that he could do was try to be ready.

But right then, he had a detention to worry about. He'd been to Saturday detention before, and he knew how fucking boring it could be. Nine hours of sleeping at his seat and playing air guitar. He'd rather jam broken pencils into his ear drums than endure another day like that.

But maybe he wouldn't have to.

Bender crossed the parking lot, not even bothering to keep the sly smirk off of his face. He noticed a grey Cadillac approaching to his right, but he didn't slow down. The Cadillac screeched to a halt just inches from his right leg, but he pretended not to notice, just kept walking. He pulled open the double doors and walked down the hallway, heading for the library.

When he pulled open the library doors, the first thing he noticed was a girl sitting on the front row. She had short red hair, and she was wearing an expensive-looking leather jacket over a light pink shirt. When she looked up to see who had just walked in, their eyes met for a split second, and Bender would swear that he saw her lips part involuntarily.

Perhaps detention wouldn't be so boring after all.

**

* * *

The Beginning **

* * *

A/N: So, my goal for this story was that someone could read this story and immediately start watching the film, and that the two stories would flow together as one. Hopefully I succeeded. ;)

Thanks to everyone who has read this story and reviewed. I really enjoyed writing it, I'm sad to see this story end, but I'm glad that so many people enjoyed reading it. I have a lot of ideas for new stories, so if you want to receive updates from me, then put me on your author alerts. Thanks again for reading! Please let me know what you thought of this final chapter.


End file.
